III.

What Phrygian artist on the top of Ide, Or vagrant of a Grecian line, Felled that inauspicious pine, To frame the bark which Paris o’er the tide Dared with barbaric oars to guide, When to my palace, in an evil hour Caught by beauty’s magic power, He came to seize me for his bride? But crafty Venus, authoress of these broils, Marched thither, leagued with death, t’ annoy Triumphant Greece and vanquished Troy, (Wretch that I am, consumed with endless toils!) And Juno seated on her golden throne, Consort of thundering Jove, Sent Hermes from the realms above, Who found me, when I carelessly had strewn Leaves plucked from roses in my vest, As Minerva’s votary drest; He bore me through the paths of air To this loathed, this dreary land, Called Greece, and Priam’s friends the strife to share, And roused to bloody deeds each rival band; Where Simois’ current glides, my name Hence is marked with groundless shame.

CHOR. Your woes I know are grievous: but to bear With tranquil mind the necessary ills Of life, is most expedient.

HEL. To what ills Have I been subject, O my dear companions! Did not my mother, as a prodigy Which wondering mortals gaze at, bring me forth? For neither Grecian nor barbaric dame Till then produced an egg, in which her children Enveloped lay, as they report, from Jove Leda engendered. My whole life and all That hath befallen me, but conspires to form One series of miraculous events; To Juno some, and to my beauty some. Are owing. Would to Heaven, that, like a tablet Whose picture is effaced, I could exchange This form for one less comely, since the Greeks Forgetting those abundant gifts showered down By prosperous Fortune which I now possess, Think but of what redounds not to my honour, And still remember my ideal shame. Whoever therefore, with one single species Of misery is afflicted by the gods, Although the weight of Heaven’s chastising hand Be grievous, may with fortitude endure Such visitation: but by many woes Am I oppressed, and first of all exposed To slanderous tongues, although I ne’er have erred. It were a lesser evil e’en to sin Then be suspected falsely. Then the gods, ’Midst men of barbarous manners, placed me far From my loved country: torn from every friend, I languish here, to servitude consigned Although of free born race: for ’midst barbarians Are all enslaved but one, their haughty lord. My fortunes had this single anchor left, Perchance my husband might at length arrive To snatch me from my woes; but he, alas! Is now no more, my mother too is dead, And I am deemed her murd’ress, though unjustly, Yet am I branded with this foul reproach; And she who was the glory of our house, My daughter in the virgin state grown grey, Still droops unwedded: my illustrious brothers, Castor and Pollux, called the sons of Jove, Are now no more. But I impute my death, Crushed as I am by all these various woes, Not to my own misdeeds, but to the power Of adverse fortune only: this one danger There yet remains, if at my native land I should again arrive, they will confine me In a close dungeon, thinking me that Helen Who dwelt in Ilion, till she thence was borne By Menelaus. Were my husband living, We might have known each other, by producing Those tokens to which none beside are privy: But this will never be, nor can he e’er Return in safety. To what purpose then Do I still lengthen out this wretched being? To what new fortunes am I still reserved? Shall I select a husband, but to vary My present ills, to dwell beneath the roof Of a barbarian, at luxurious boards With wealth abounding, seated? for the dame Whom wedlock couples with the man she hates Death is the best expedient. But with glory How shall I die? the fatal noose appears To be so base, that e’en in slaves ’tis held Unseemly thus to perish; in the poniard There’s somewhat great and generous. But to me Delays are useless: welcome instant death: Into such depth of misery am I plunged. For beauty renders other women blest, But hath to me the source of ruin proved.

CHOR. O Helen, whosoe’er the stranger be Who hither came, believe not that the whole Of what he said, is truth.

HEL. But in plain terms Hath he announced my dearest husband’s death.

CHOR. The false assertions which prevail, are many.

HEL. Clear is the language in which honest Truth Loves to express herself.

CHOR. You are inclined Rather to credit inauspicious tidings Than those which are more favourable.

HEL. By fears Encompassed, am I hurried to despair.

CHOR. What hospitable treatment have you found Beneath these roofs?

HEL. All here, except the man Who seeks to wed me, are my friends.

CHOR. You know How then to act: leave this sepulchral gloom.

HEL. What are the counsels, or the cheering words You wish to introduce?

CHOR. Go in, and question The daughter of the Nereid, her who knows All hidden truths, Theonoe, if your lord Yet live, or view the solar beams no more: And when you have learnt this, as suit your fortunes Indulge your joys, or pour forth all your tears: But ere you know aught fully, what avail Your sorrows? therefore listen to my words; Leaving this tomb, attend the maid: from her Shall you know all. But why should you look farther When truth is in these mansions to be found? With you the doors I’ll enter; we together The royal virgin’s oracles will hear. For ’tis a woman’s duty to exert Her utmost efforts in a woman’s cause.

HEL. My friends, your wholesome counsels I approve: But enter ye these doors, that ye, within The palace, my calamities may hear.

CHOR. You summon her who your commands obeys Without reluctance.

HEL. Woeful day! ah me, What lamentable tidings shall I hear?

CHOR. Forbear these plaintive strains, my dearest queen, Nor with presaging soul anticipate Evils to come.

HEL. What hath my wretched lord Endured? Doth he yet view the light, the sun Borne in his radiant chariot, and the paths Of all the starry train? Or hath he shared The common lot of mortals, is he plunged Among the dead, beneath th’ insatiate grave?

CHOR. O construe what time yet may bring to pass In the most favourable terms.

HEL. On thee I call to testify, and thee adjure, Eurotas, on whose verdant margin grow The waving reeds: O tell me, if my lord Be dead, as fame avers.

CHOR. Why do you utter These incoherent ditties?

HEL. Round my neck The deadly noose will I entwine, or drive With my own hand a poinard through my breast; For I was erst the cause of bloody strife; But now am I a victim, to appease The wrath of those three goddesses who strove On Ida’s mount, when ’midst the stalls where fed His lowing herds, the son of Priam waked The sylvan reed, to celebrate my beauty.

CHOR. Cause these averted ills, ye gods, to light On other heads; but, O my royal mistress, May you be happy.

HEL. Thou, O wretched Troy, To crimes which thou hast ne’er committed, ow’st Thy ruin, and those horrible disasters Thou hast endured. For as my nuptial gifts, Hath Venus caused an intermingled stream Of blood and tears to flow, she, griefs to griefs And tears to tears hath added; all these sufferings Have been the miserable Ilion’s lot. Of their brave sons the mothers were bereft The virgin sisters of the mighty dead Strewed their shorn tresses on Scamander’s banks, While, by repeated shrieks, victorious Greece Her woes expressing, smote her laurelled head, And with her nails deep furrowing tore her cheeks. Happy Calisto, thou Arcadian nymph Who didst ascend the couch of Jove, transformed To a four-footed savage, far more blest Art thou than she to whom I owe my birth: For thou beneath the semblance of a beast, Thy tender limbs with shaggy hide o’erspread, And glaring with stern visage, by that change Didst end thy griefs. She too whom Dian drove Indignant from her choir, that hind whose horns Were tipped with gold, the bright Titanian maid, Daughter of Merops, to her beauty owed That transformation: but my charms have ruined Both Troy and the unhappy Grecian host.

[_Exeunt_ HELEN _and_ CHORUS.

MENELAUS.

O Pelops, in the strife on Pisa’s field, Who didst outstrip the fiery steeds that whirled The chariot of Oenomaus, would to Heaven That when thy severed limbs before the gods Were at the banquet placed, thou then thy life Amidst the blest immortal powers hadst closed, Ere thou my father Atreus didst beget, Whose issue by his consort Ærope Were Agamemnon and myself, two chiefs Of high renown. No ostentatious words Are these; but such a numerous host, I deem, As that which we to Ilion’s shore conveyed, Ne’er stemmed the tide before; these troops their king Led not by force to combat, but bore rule O’er Grecian youths his voluntary subjects, And among these, some heroes, now no more, May we enumerate; others from the sea Who ’scaped with joy, and to their homes returned, E’en after fame had classed them with the dead. But I, most wretched, o’er the briny waves Of ocean wander, since I have o’erthrown The battlements of Troy, and though I wish Again to reach my country; by the gods Am I esteemed unworthy of such bliss. E’en to the Libyan deserts have I sailed, And traversed each inhospitable scene Of brutal outrage; still as I approach My country, the tempestuous winds repel me, Nor hath a prosperous breeze from Heaven yet filled My sails, to waft me to the Spartan coast: And now a shipwrecked, miserable man, Reft of my friends, I on these shores am cast, My vessel hath been shivered ’gainst the rocks Into a thousand fragments: on the keel, The only part which yet remains entire Of all that fabric, scarce could I and Helen, Whom I from Troy have borne, escape with life Through fortunes unforeseen: but of this land And its inhabitants, the name I know not: For with the crowd I blushed to intermingle Lest they my squalid garments should observe, Through shame my wants concealing. For the man Of an exalted station, when assailed By adverse fortune, having never learned How to endure calamity, is plunged Into a state far worse than he whose woes Have been of ancient date. But pinching need Torments me: for I have not either food Or raiment to protect my shivering frame, Which may be guessed from these vile rags I wear Cast up from my wrecked vessel: for the sea Hath swallowed up my robes, my tissued vests, And every ensign of my former state. Within the dark recesses of a cave Having concealed my wife, that guilty cause Of all my woes, and my surviving friends Enjoined to guard her, hither am I come. Alone, in quest of necessary aid For my brave comrades whom I there have left, If by my search I haply can obtain it, I roam; but when I viewed this house adorned With gilded pinnacles, and gates that speak The riches of their owner, I advanced: For I have hopes that from this wealthy mansion I, somewhat for my sailors, shall obtain. But they who want the necessary comforts Of life, although they are disposed to aid us, Yet have not wherewithal. Ho! who comes forth From yonder gate, my doleful tale to bear Into the house?

FEMALE SERVANT, MENELAUS.

FEMALE SER. Who at the threshold stands? Wilt thou not hence depart, lest thy appearance Before these doors give umbrage to our lords? Else shalt thou surely die, because thou cam’st From Greece, whose sons shall never hence return.

MEN. Well hast thou spoken, O thou aged dame. Wilt thou permit me? For to thy behests Must I submit: but suffer me to speak.

FEMALE SER. Depart: for ’tis my duty to permit No Greek to enter this imperial dome.

MEN. Lift not thy hand against me, nor attempt To drive me hence by force.

FEMALE SER. Thou wilt not yield To my advice, thou therefore art to blame.

MEN. Carry my message to thy lords within.

FEMALE SER. I fear lest somewhat dreadful might ensue, Should I repeat your words.

MEN. I hither come A shipwrecked man, a stranger, one of those Whom all hold sacred.

FEMALE SER. To some other house, Instead of this, repair.

MEN. I am determined To enter: but comply with my request.

FEMALE SER. Be well assured thou art unwelcome here, And shalt ere long by force be driven away.

MEN. Alas! alas! where are my valiant troops?

FEMALE SER. Elsewhere, perhaps, thou wert a mighty man; But here art thou no longer such.

MEN. O Fortune! How am I galled with undeserved reproach!

FEMALE SER. Why are those eyelids moist with tears, why griev’st thou?

MEN. Because I once was happy.

FEMALE SER. Then depart, And mingle social tears with those thou lov’st.

MEN. But what domain is this, to whom belong These royal mansions?

FEMALE SER. Proteus here resides; This land is Egypt.

MEN. Egypt? wretched me! Ah, whither have I sailed!

FEMALE SER. But for what cause Scorn’st thou the race of Nile?

MEN. I scorn them not: My own disastrous fortunes I bewail.

FEMALE SER. Many are wretched, thou in this respect Art nothing singular.

MEN. Is he, the king Thou speak’st of, here within?

FEMALE SER. To him belongs This tomb; his son is ruler of this land.

MEN. But where is he: abroad, or in the palace?

FEMALE SER. He’s not within; but to the Greeks he bears The greatest enmity.

MEN. Whence rose this hate, Productive of such bitter fruits to me?

FEMALE SER. Beneath these roofs Jove’s daughter Helen dwells.

MEN. What mean’st thou? Ha! what words with wonder fraught Are these which thou hast uttered? O repeat them.

FEMALE SER. The child of Tyndarus, she who in the realm Of Sparta erst abode.

MEN. Whence came she hither? How can this be?

FEMALE SER. From Lacedæmon’s realm.

MEN. When? Hath my wife been torn from yonder cave?

FEMALE SER. Before the Greeks, O stranger, went to Troy Retreat then from these mansions, for within Hath happened a calamitous event, By which the palace is disturbed. Thou com’st Unseasonably, and if the king surprise thee, Instead of hospitable treatment, death Must be thy portion. To befriend the Greeks Though well inclined, yet thee have I received With these harsh words, because I fear the monarch.

[_Exit_ FEMALE SERVANT.

MEN. What shall I say? For I, alas! am told Of present sorrows added to the past. Come I not hither, after having borne From vanquished Troy my consort, whom I left Within yon cave well guarded? Yet here dwells Another Helen, whom that woman called Jove’s daughter. Lives there on the banks of Nile A man who bears the sacred name of Jove? For in the heavens there’s only one. What country, But that where glides Eurotas’ stream beset With waving reeds, is Sparta? Tyndarus’ name Suits him alone. But is there any land Synonymous with Lacedæmon’s realm, And that of Troy? I know not how to solve This doubt; for there are many, it appears, In various regions of the world, who bear Like appellations; city corresponds With city; woman borrows that of woman; Nor must we therefore wonder. Yet again Here will I stay, though danger be announced By yonder aged servant at the door: For there is no man so devoid of pity As not to give me food, when he the name Of Menelaus hears. That dreadful fire By which the Phrygian bulwarks were consumed Is memorable, and I who kindled it Am known in every land. I’ll therefore wait Until the master of this house return. But I have two expedients, and will practise That which my safety shall require; of soul Obdurate, if he prove, in my wrecked bark Can I conceal myself, but if the semblance Which he puts on, be mild, I for relief From these my present miseries, will apply. But this of all the woes that I endure Is the most grievous, that from other kings I, though a king myself, should be reduced To beg my food: but thus hath Fate ordained. Nor is it my assertion, but a maxim Among the wise established, that there’s nought More powerful than the dread behests of Fate.

HELEN, CHORUS, MENELAUS.

CHOR. I heard what yon prophetic maid foretold, Who in the palace did unfold The oracles; that to the shades profound Of Erebus, beneath the ground Interred, not yet hath Menelaus ta’en His passage: on the stormy main Still tossed, he cannot yet approach the strand, The haven of the Spartan land: The chief, who now his vagrant life bewails, Without a friend, unfurls his sails, From Ilion’s realm to every distant shore Borne o’er the deep with luckless oar.

HEL. I to this hallowed tomb again repair, Now I have heard the grateful tidings uttered By sage Theonoe, who distinctly knows All that hath happened? for she says my lord Is living, and yet views the solar beams: But after passing o’er unnumbered straits Of ocean, to a vagrant’s wretched life Full long inured, on these Ægyptian coasts, When he his toils hath finished, shall arrive. Yet there is one thing more, which she hath left Unmentioned, whether he shall come with safety. This question I neglected to propose, O’erjoyed when she informed me he yet lives; She also adds, that he is near the land, From his wrecked ship, with his few friends, cast forth, O mayst thou come at length; for ever dear To me wilt thou arrive. Ha! who is that? Am not I caught, through some deceitful scheme Of Proteus’ impious son, in hidden snares? Like a swift courser, or the madding priestess Of Bacchus, shall I not with hasty step Enter the tomb, because his looks are fierce Who rushes on, and strives to overtake me?

MEN. On thee I call, who to the yawning trench Around that tomb, and blazing altars hiest Precipitate. Stay: wherefore dost thou fly? With what amazement doth thy presence strike And almost leave me speechless!

HEL. O my friends, I suffer violence; for from the tomb I by this man am dragged, who to the king Will give me, from whose nuptial couch I fled.

MEN. We are no pirates, nor the ministers Of lustful villany.

HEL. Yet is the vest You wear unseemly.

MEN. Stay thy rapid flight, Dismiss thy fears.

HEL. I stop, now I have reached This hallowed spot.

MEN. Say, woman, who thou art; What face do I behold?

HEL. But who are you? For I by the same reasons am induced To ask this question.

MEN. Never did I see A greater likeness.

HEL. O ye righteous gods! For ’tis a privilege the gods alone Confer, to recognize our long-lost friends.

MEN. Art thou a Grecian or a foreign dame?

HEL. Of Greece: but earnestly I wish to know Whence you derive your origin.

MEN. In thee A wonderful resemblance I discern Of Helen.

HEL. Menelaus’ very features These eyes in you behold, still at a loss Am I for words t’ express my thoughts.

MEN. Full clearly Hast thou discovered a most wretched man.

HEL. O to thy consort’s arms at length restored!

MEN. To what a consort? O forbear to touch My garment!

HEL. E’en the same, whom to your arms, A noble bride, my father Tyndarus gave.

MEN. Send forth, O Hecate, thou orb of light, Some more benignant spectre.

HEL. You in me Behold not one of those who minister At Hecate’s abhorred nocturnal rites.

MEN. Nor am I sure the husband of two wives.

HEL. Say, to whom else in wedlock are you joined?

MEN. To her who lies concealed in yonder cave, The prize I hither bring from vanquished Troy.

HEL. You have no wife but me.

MEN. If I retain My reason yet, these eyes are sure deceived.

HEL. Seem you not then, while me you thus behold, To view your real consort?

MEN. Though your person Resemble hers, no positive decision Can I presume to form.

HEL. Observe me well, And mark wherein we differ. Who can judge With greater certainty than you?

MEN. Thou bear’st Her semblance, I confess.

HEL. Who can inform you Better than your own eyes?

MEN. What makes me doubt Is this; because I have another wife.

HEL. To the domains of Troy I never went: It was my image only.

MEN. Who can fashion Such bodies, with the power of sight endued?

HEL. Composed of ether, you a consort have, Heaven’s workmanship.

MEN. Wrought by what plastic god? For the events thou speak’st of are most wondrous.

HEL. Lest Paris should obtain me, this exchange Was made by Juno.

MEN. How couldst thou be here, At the same time, and in the Phrygian realm?

HEL. The name, but not the body, can be present At once in many places.

MEN. O release me; For I came hither in an evil hour.

HEL. Will you then leave me here, and bear away That shadow of a wife?

MEN. Yet, O farewell, Because thou art like Helen.

HEL. I’m undone: For though my husband I again have found, Yet shall not I possess him.

MEN. My conviction, From all those grievous toils I have endured At Ilion, I derive, and not from thee.

HEL. Ah, who is there more miserable than I am? My dearest friends desert me: I, to Greece, To my dear native land, shall ne’er return.

MESSENGER, MENELAUS, HELEN, CHORUS.

MES. After a tedious search, O Menelaus, At length have I with difficulty found you, But not till over all the wide extent Of this barbaric region I had wandered; Sent by the comrades whom you left behind.

MEN. Have ye been plundered then by the barbarians?

MES. A most miraculous event hath happened, Yet less astonishing by far in name Than in reality.

MEN. Speak, for thou bring’st Important tidings by this breathless haste.

MES. My words are these: in vain have you endured Unnumbered toils.

MEN. Those thou bewail’st are ills Of ancient date. But what hast thou to tell me?

MES. Borne to the skies your consort from our sight Hath vanished, in the heavens is she concealed, Leaving the cave in which we guarded her, When she these words had uttered: “O ye sons Of hapless Phrygia, and of Greece: for me Beside Scamander’s conscious stream ye died, Through Juno’s arts, because ye falsely deemed Helen by Phrygian Paris was possest: But after having here remained on earth My stated time, observing the decrees Of Fate, I to my sire the liquid ether Return: but Tyndarus’ miserable daughter, Though guiltless, hath unjustly been accused.” Daughter of Leda hail! wert thou then here? While I as if thou to the starry paths Hadst mounted, through my ignorance proclaimed Thou from this world on rapid wings wert borne. But I no longer will allow thee thus To sport with the afflictions of thy friends; For in thy cause thy lord and his brave troops On Ilion’s coast already have endured Abundant toils.

MEN. These are the very words She uttered; and by what ye both aver The truth is ascertained. O happy day Which gives thee to my arms!

HEL. My dearest lord, O Menelaus, it is long indeed Since I have seen you: but joy comes at last. My friends, transported I receive my lord Whom I once more with these fond arms enfold, After the radiant chariot of the sun Hath oft the world illumined.

MEN. I embrace Thee too: but having now so much to say I know not with what subject to begin.

HEL. Joy raises my exulting crest, these tears Are tears of ecstasy, around your neck My arms I fling with transport, O my husband, O sight most wished for!

MEN. I acquit the Fates, Since Jove’s and Leda’s daughter I possess, On whom her brothers borne on milk-white steeds Erst showered abundant blessings, when the torch Was kindled at our jocund nuptial rite; Though from my palace her the gods conveyed. But evil now converted into good To me thy husband hath at length restored My long-lost consort: grant, O bounteous Heaven, That I these gifts of fortune may enjoy.

HEL. May you enjoy them, for my vows concur With yours; nor, of us two, can one be wretched Without the other. O my friends, I groan No longer, I no longer shed the tear For my past woes: my husband I possess Whom I from Troy expected to return Full many, many years.

MEN. I still am thine, And thee with these fond arms again enfold. But oft the chariot of the sun revolved Through his diurnal orbit, ere the frauds Of Juno I discerned. Yet more from joy Than from affliction rise the tears I shed.

HEL. What shall I say? what mortal could presume E’er to have hoped for such a blest event? An unexpected visitant once more I clasp you to my bosom.

MEN. And I thee Who didst appear to sail for Ida’s town, And Ilion’s wretched turrets. By the gods, Inform me, I conjure thee, by what means Thou from my palace hither wert conveyed.

HEL. Alas! you to the source of all my woes Ascend, and search into most bitter tidings.

MEN. Speak: for whate’er hath been ordained by Heaven Ought to be published.

HEL. I abhor the topic On which I now am entering.

MEN. Yet relate All that thou know’st; for pleasing ’tis to hear Of labours that are past.

HEL. I never went To that barbarian youth’s adulterous couch By the swift oar impelled: but winged love Those hapless spousals formed.

MEN. What god, what fate Hath torn thee from thy country?

HEL. O my lord, The son of Jove hath placed me on the banks Of Nile.

MEN. With what amazement do I hear This wondrous tale of thy celestial guide!

HEL. Oft have I wept, and still the tear bedews These eyes: to Juno, wife of Jove, I owe My ruin.

MEN. Wherefore wished she to have heaped Mischiefs on thee?

HEL. Ye sources of whate’er To me hath been most dreadful, O ye baths And fountains, where those goddesses adorned Their rival beauties, from whose influence rose That judgment!

MEN. Were those curses on thy head By Juno showered, that judgment to requite?

HEL. To rescue me from Venus.

MEN. What thou mean’st Inform me.

HEL. Who to Paris had engaged——

MEN. O wretched woman!

HEL. Wretched, wretched me! Thus did she waft me to th’ Egyptian coast.

MEN. Then in thy stead to him that image gave, As thou inform’st me.

HEL. But alas! what woes Thence visited our wretched house! ah mother! Ah me!

MEN. What sayst thou?

HEL. Leda is no more. Around her neck she fixed the deadly noose On my account, through my unhappy nuptials O’erwhelmed with foul disgrace.

MEN. Alas! But lives Hermione our daughter?

HEL. Yet unwedded, Yet childless, O my husband, she bewails My miserable ’spousals, my disgrace.

MEN. O Paris, who hast utterly o’erthrown All my devoted house, these curst events, Both thee, and myriads of the Grecian troops With brazen arms refulgent, have destroyed.

HEL. But from my country in an evil hour, From my loved native city, and from you, Me hath the goddess driven, a wretch accursed In that I left our home, and bridal bed, Which yet I left not, for those base espousals.

CHOR. If ye hereafter meet with happier fortune, This may atone for all ye have endured Already.

MES. To me too, O Menelaus, Communicate a portion of that joy Which I perceive, but know not whence it springs.

MEN. Thou too, old man, shalt in our conference share.

MES. Was not she then the cause of all the woes Endured at Troy?

MEN. Not she: we were deceived By those immortal Powers, whose plastic hand Moulded a cloud into that baleful image.

MES. What words are these you utter? have we toiled In vain, and only for an empty cloud?

MEN. These deeds were wrought by Juno, and the strife ’Twixt the three goddesses.

MES. But is this woman Indeed your wife?

MEN. E’en she: and thou for this On my assertion safely mayst depend.

MES. My daughter, O how variable is Jove, And how inscrutable! for he with ease Whirls us around, now here, now there; one suffers Full many toils; another, who ne’er knew What sorrow was, is swallowed up at once In swift perdition, nor in Fortune’s gifts A firm and lasting tenure doth enjoy. Thou and thy husband have endured a war, Of slander thou, but he of pointed spears: For by the tedious labours he endured He nothing could obtain, but now obtains The greatest and the happiest of all boons, Which comes to him unsought. Thou hast not shamed Thy aged father, and the sons of Jove, Nor acted as malignant rumour speaks. I now renew thy hymeneal rite, And still am mindful of the torch I bore, Running before the steeds, when in a car Thou with this favoured bridegroom wert conveyed From thy paternal mansion’s happy gates. For worthless is that servant who neglects His master’s interests, nor partakes their joys, Nor feels for their afflictions. I was born Indeed a slave, yet I with generous slaves Would still be numbered, for although the name I bear is abject, yet my soul is free. Far better this, than if I had at once Suffered two evils, a corrupted heart, And vile subjection to another’s will.

MEN. Courage, old man: for thou hast borne my shield, And in my cause endured unnumbered toils, Sharing my dangers: now partake my joys; Go tell the friends I left, what thou hast seen, And our auspicious fortunes: on the shore Bid them remain, till our expected conflict Is finished; and observe how we may sail From this loathed coast; that, with our better fortune Conspiring, we, if possible, may ’scape From these barbarians.

MES. Your commands, O king, Shall be obeyed. But I perceive how vain And how replete with falsehood is the voice Of prophets: no dependence can be placed Upon the flames that from the altar rise, Or on the voices of the feathered choir. It is the height of folly to suppose That birds are able to instruct mankind. For Calchas, to the host, nor by his words Nor signs, declared, “I for a cloud behold My friends in battle slain.” The seer was mute, And Troy in vain was taken. But perhaps You will rejoin, “’Twas not the will of Heaven That he should speak.” Why then do we consult These prophets? We by sacrifice should ask For blessings from the gods, and lay aside All auguries. This vain delusive bait Was but invented to beguile mankind. No sluggard e’er grew rich by divination, The best of seers are Prudence and Discernment.

[_Exit_ MESSENGER.

CHOR. My sentiments on prophets well accord With those of this old man. He whom the gods Th’ immortal gods befriend, in his own house Hath a response that never can mislead.

HEL. So be it. All thus far is well. But how You came with safety, O unhappy man, From Troy, ’twill nought avail for me to know; Yet with the sorrows of their friends, have friends A wish to be acquainted.

MEN. Thou hast asked A multitude of questions in one short And blended sentence. Why should I recount To thee our sufferings on the Ægean deep, Those treacherous beacons, by the vengeful hand Of Nauplius kindled on Eubœa’s rocks, The towns of Crete, or in the Libyan realm, Which I have visited, and the famed heights Of Perseus? never could my words assuage Thy curiosity, and, by repeating My woes to thee, I should but grieve the more, And yet a second time those sufferings feel.

HEL. You in your answer have been more discreet Than I who such a question did propose. But pass o’er all beside, and only tell me How long you wandered o’er the briny main.

MEN. Year after year, besides the ten at Troy, Seven tedious revolutions of the sun.

HEL. The time you speak of, O unhappy man, Is long indeed: but from those dangers saved You hither come to bleed.

MEN. What words are these? What dost thou mean? O, how hast thou undone me!

HEL. Fly from these regions with your utmost speed: Or he to whom this house belongs will slay you.

MEN. What have I done that merits such a fate?

HEL. You hither come an unexpected guest, And are a hindrance to my bridal rite.

MEN. Is there a man then who presumes to wed My consort?

HEL. And with arrogance to treat me, Which I, alas! have hitherto endured.

MEN. Of private rank, in his own strength alone Doth he confide, or rules he o’er the land?

HEL. Lord of this region, royal Proteus’ son.

MEN. This is the very riddle which I heard From yonder female servant.

HEL. At which gate Of this barbarian palace did you stand?

MEN. Here, whence I like a beggar was repelled.

HEL. What, did you beg for food! ah wretched me!

MEN. The fact was thus: though I that abject name Assumed not.

HEL. You then know, it seems, the whole About my nuptials.

MEN. This I know: but whether Thou has escaped th’ embraces of the king I still am uninformed.

HEL. That I have kept Your bed still spotless, may you rest assured.

MEN. How canst thou prove the fact? if thou speak truth To me, it will give pleasure.

HEL. Do you see, Close to the tomb, my miserable seat?

MEN. I on the ground behold a couch: but what Hast thou to do with that, O wretched woman?

HEL. Here I a suppliant bowed, that I might ’scape From those espousals.

MEN. Couldst thou find no altar, Or dost thou follow the barbarian mode?

HEL. Equally with the temples of the gods Will this protect me.

MEN. Is not then my bark Allowed to waft thee to the Spartan shore?

HEL. Rather the sword than Helen’s bridal bed Awaits you.

MEN. Thus should I of all mankind Be the most wretched.

HEL. Let not shame prevent Your ’scaping from this land.

MEN. And leaving thee, For whom I laid the walls of Ilion waste?

HEL. ’Twere better than to perish in the cause Of me your consort.

MEN. Such unmanly deeds As these thou speak’st of would disgrace the chief Who conquered Troy.

HEL. You cannot slay the king, Which is perhaps the project you have formed.

MEN. Hath he then such a body as no steel Can penetrate?

HEL. My reasons you shall know. But it becomes not a wise man t’ attempt What cannot be performed.

MEN. Shall I submit My hands in silence to the galling chain?

HEL. You know not how to act in these dire straits To which we are reduced: but of some plot Must we avail ourselves.

MEN. ’Twere best to die In some brave action than without a conflict.

HEL. One only hope of safety yet remains.

MEN. By gold can it be purchased, or depends it On dauntless courage, or persuasive words?

HEL. Of your arrival if the monarch hear not.

MEN. Who can inform him? he will never sure Know who I am.

HEL. He hath a sure associate, Within his palace, equal to the gods.

MEN. Some voice which from its inmost chambers sounds?

HEL. No: ’tis his sister, her they call Theonoe.

MEN. She bears indeed a most prophetic name; But say, what mighty deeds can she perform?

HEL. All things she knows, and will inform her brother That you are here.

MEN. We both, alas! must die, Nor can I possibly conceal myself.

HEL. Could our united supplications move her?

MEN. To do what action? Into what vain hope Wouldst thou mislead me?

HEL. Not to tell her brother That you are in the land.

MEN. If we prevail Thus far, can we escape from these domains?

HEL. With ease, if she concur in our design, But not without her knowledge.

MEN. This depends On thee: for woman best prevails with woman.

HEL. Around her knees these suppliant hands I’ll twine.

MEN. Go then; but what if she reject our prayer?

HEL. You certainly must die; and I by force Shall to the king be wedded.

MEN. Thou betray’st me; That force thou talk’st of is but mere pretence.

HEL. But by your head that sacred oath I swear.

MEN. What sayst thou, wilt thou die, and never change Thy husband?

HEL. By the self-same sword: my corse Shall lie beside you.

MEN. To confirm the words Which thou hast spoken, take my hand.

HEL. I take Your hand, and swear that after you are dead I will not live.

MEN. And I will put an end To my existence, if deprived of thee.

HEL. But how shall we die so as to procure Immortal glory?

MEN. Soon as on the tomb Thee I have slain, myself will I destroy. But first a mighty conflict shall decide Our claims who to thy bridal bed aspire. Let him who dares, draw near: for the renown I won at Troy, I never will belie, Nor yet returning to the Grecian shore Suffer unnumbered taunts for having reft Thetis of her Achilles, and beheld Ajax the Telamonian hero slain, With Neleus’ grandson, though I dare not bleed To save my consort. Yet on thy behalf Without regret, will I surrender up This fleeting life: for if the gods are wise They lightly scatter dust upon the tomb. Of the brave man who by his foes is slain, But pile whole mountains on the coward’s breast.

CHOR. O may the race of Tantalus, ye gods, At length be prosperous, may their sorrows cease!

HEL. Wretch that I am! for such is my hard fate: O Menelaus, we are lost for ever. The prophetess Theonoe, from the palace Comes forth: I hear the sounding gates unbarred. Fly from this spot. But whither can you fly? For your arrival here, full well she knows, Absent, or present. How, O wretched me, Am I undone! in safety you return From Troy, from a barbarian land, to rush Again upon the swords of fresh barbarians.

THEONOE, MENELAUS, HELEN, CHORUS.

THEON. [_to one of her Attendants_.] Lead thou the way, sustaining in thy hand The kindled torch, and fan the ambient air, Observing every due and solemn rite, That we may breathe the purest gales of Heaven. Meanwhile do thou, if any impious foot Have marked the path, with lustral flames efface The taint, and wave the pitchy brand around, That I may pass; and when we have performed Our duteous homage to th’ immortal powers, Into the palace let the flame be borne, Restore it to the Lares. What opinion Have you, O Helen, of th’ events foretold By my prophetic voice? Your husband comes, Your Menelaus in this land appears, Reft of his ships, and of your image reft. ’Scaped from what dangers, O unhappy man, Art thou arrived, although thou know’st not yet Whether thou e’er shalt to thy home return, Or here remain. For there is strife in Heaven; And Jove on thy account this day will hold A council; Juno who was erst thy foe, Now grown benignant, with thy consort safe To Sparta would convey thee, that all Greece May understand that the fictitious nuptials Of Paris, were the baleful gift of Venus. But Venus wants to frustrate thy return, Lest she should be convicted, or appear At least the palm of beauty to have purchased By vending Helen for a wife to Paris. But this important question to decide, On me depends; I either can destroy thee, Which is the wish of Venus, by informing My brother thou art here; or save thy life By taking Juno’s side, and thy arrival Concealing from my brother, who enjoined me To inform him whensoe’er thou on these shores Shouldst land. Who bears the tidings to my brother, That Menelaus’ self is here, to save me From his resentment?

HEL. At thy knees I fall, O virgin, as a suppliant, and here take My miserable seat, both for myself, And him whom, scarce restored to me, I see Now on the verge of death. Forbear t’ inform Thy brother, that to these fond arms my lord Again is come. O save him, I implore thee; Nor gratify thy brother, by betraying The feelings of humanity, to purchase A wicked and unjust applause: for Jove Detests all violence, he bids us use What we possess, but not increase our stores By rapine. It is better to be poor, Than gain unrighteous wealth. For all mankind Enjoy these common blessings, Air and Earth; Nor ought we our own house with gold to fill, By keeping fraudfully another’s right, Or seizing it by violence. For Hermes, Commissioned by the blest immortal powers, Hath, at my cost, consigned me to thy sire, To keep me for this husband, who is here And claims me back again: but by what means Can he receive me after he is dead? Or how can the Ægyptian king restore me A living consort to my breathless lord? Consider therefore, both the will of Heaven And that of thy great father. Would the god, Would the deceased, surrender up or keep Another’s right? I deem they would restore it. Hence to thy foolish brother shouldst not thou Pay more respect than to thy virtuous sire. And sure if thou, a prophetess, who utter’st Th’ oracular responses of the gods, Break’st through thy father’s justice, to comply With an unrighteous brother: it were base In thee to understand each mystic truth Revealed by the immortal powers, the things That are, and those that are not; yet o’erlook The rules of justice. But O stoop to save Me, miserable me, from all those ills In which I am involved; this great exertion Of thy benignant aid, my fortunes claim. For there is no man who abhors not Helen; ’Tis rumoured through all Greece that I betrayed My husband, and abode beneath the roofs Of wealthy Phrygia. But to Greece once more Should I return, and to the Spartan realm; When they are told, and see, how to the arts Of these contending goddesses they owe Their ruin; but that I have to my friends Been ever true, they to the rank I held ’Midst chaste and virtuous matrons, will restore me: My daughter too, whom no man dares to wed, From me her bridal portion shall receive; And I, no longer doomed to lead the life Of an unhappy vagrant, shall enjoy The treasures that our palaces contain. Had Menelaus died, and been consumed In the funereal pyre, I should have wept For him far distant in a foreign realm; But now shall I for ever be bereft Of him who lives, and seem to have escaped From every danger. Virgin, act not thus; To thee I kneel a suppliant; O confer On me this boon, and emulate the justice Of your great sire. For fair renown attends The children, from a virtuous father sprung, Who equal their hereditary worth.

THEON. Most piteous are the words which you have spoken; You also claim my pity: but I wish To hear what Menelaus yet can plead To save his life.

MEN. I cannot at your knees Fall prostrate, or with tears these eyelids stain: For I should cover all the great exploits Which I achieved at Ilion with disgrace, If I became a dastard; though some hold ’Tis not unworthy of the brave to weep When wretched. But this honourable part (If such a part can e’er be honourable) I will not act, because the prosperous fortunes Which erst were mine, are present to my soul. If then you haply are disposed to save A foreigner who justly claims his wife, Restore her, and protect us: if you spurn Our suit, I am not now for the first time, But have been often wretched, and your name Shall be recorded as an impious woman. These thoughts, which I hold worthy of myself, And just, and such as greatly must affect Your inmost heart, I at your father’s tomb With energy will utter. Good old man, Beneath this marble sepulchre who dwell’st, To thee I sue, restore my wife, whom Jove Sent hither to thy realm, that thou for me Might’st guard her. Thou, I know, since thou art dead, Canst ne’er have power to give her back again: But she, this holy priestess, will not suffer Reproach to fall on her illustrious sire, Whom I invoke amid the shades beneath: For this depends on her. Thee too I call, O Pluto, to my aid, who hast received Full many a corse, which fell in Helen’s cause Beneath my sword, and still retain’st the prize: Either restore them now to life, or force Her who seems mightier than her pious father, To give me back my wife. But of my consort If ye resolve to rob me, I will urge Those arguments which Helen hath omitted. Know then, O virgin, first I by an oath Have bound myself, your brother to encounter, And he, or I, must perish; the plain truth Is this. But foot to foot in equal combat. If he refuse to meet me, and attempt To drive us suppliants from the tomb by famine, My consort will I slay, and with the sword Here on this sepulchre my bosom pierce, That the warm current of our blood may stream Into the grave. Thus shall our corses lie Close to each other on this polished marble: To you eternal sorrow shall they cause, And foul reproach to your great father’s name. For neither shall your brother wed my Helen, Nor any man beside: for I with me Will bear her; if I cannot bear her home, Yet will I bear her to the shades beneath. But why complain? If I shed tears, and act The woman’s part, I rather shall become An object of compassion, than deserve To be esteemed a warrior. If you list, Slay me, for I can never fall inglorious. But rather yield due credence to my words, So will you act with justice, and my wife Shall I recover.

CHOR. To decide the cause On which we speak, belongs to thee, O virgin: But so decide as to please all.

THEON. By nature And inclination am I formed to act With piety, myself too I revere: Nor will I e’er pollute my sire’s renown, Or gratify my brother by such means As might make me seem base. For from my birth, Hath justice in this bosom fixed her shrine: And since from Nereus I inherited This temper, Menelaus will I strive To save. But now since Juno is disposed To be your friend, with her will I accord: May Venus be propitious, though her rites I never have partaken, and will strive For ever to remain a spotless maid. But I concur with thee, O Menelaus, In all thou to my father at his tomb Hast said: for with injustice should I act If I restored not Helen: had he lived, My sire on thee again would have bestowed Thy consort, and her former lord on Helen. For vengeance, in the shades of Hell beneath, And among all that breathe the vital air, Attends on those who break their plighted trust. The soul of the deceased, although it live Indeed no longer, yet doth still retain A consciousness which lasts for ever, lodged In the eternal scene of its abode, The liquid ether. To express myself Concisely, all that you requested me Will I conceal, nor with my counsels aid My brother’s folly; I to him shall show A real friendship, though without the semblance, If I his vicious manners can reform And make him more religious. Therefore find Means to escape yourselves; for I will hence Depart in silence. First implore the gods; To Venus sue, that she your safe return Would suffer; and to Juno, not to change The scheme which she hath formed, both to preserve Your lord and you. O my departed sire, For thee will I exert my utmost might, That on thy honoured name no foul reproach May ever rest.

[_Exit_ THEONOE.

CHOR. No impious man e’er prospered: But fairest hopes attend an honest cause.

HEL. O Menelaus, as to what depends Upon the royal maid, are we secure: But next doth it become you to propose Some means our safety to effect.

MEN. Now listen To me; thou in this palace long hast dwelt, An inmate with the servants of the king.

HEL. Why speak you thus? for you raise hopes, as though You could do somewhat for our common good.

MEN. Canst thou prevail on any one of those Who guide the harnessed steeds, to furnish us With a swift car?

HEL. Perhaps I might succeed In that attempt. But how shall we escape Who to these fields and this barbarian land Are strangers? An impracticable thing Is this you speak of.

MEN. Well, but in the palace Concealed, if with this sword the king I slay.

HEL. His sister will not suffer this in silence If you attempt aught ’gainst her brother’s life.

MEN. We have no ship in which we can escape; For that which we brought hither, by the waves Is swallowed up.

HEL. Now hear what I propose; From woman’s lips if wisdom ever flow. Will you permit a rumour of your death To be dispersed?

MEN. This were an evil omen: But I, if any benefit arise From such report, consent to be called dead While I yet live.

HEL. That impious tyrant’s pity Our female choir shall move, with tresses shorn, And chaunt funereal strains.

MEN. What tendency Can such a project have to our deliverance?

HEL. I will allege that ’tis an ancient custom; And of the monarch his permission crave, That I on you, as if you in the sea Had perished, may bestow a vacant tomb.

MEN. If he consent, how can this feigned interment Enable us to fly without a ship?

HEL. I will command a bark to be prepared, From whence into the bosom of the deep Funereal trappings I may cast.

MEN. How well And wisely hast thou spoken! but the tomb If he direct thee on the strand to raise, Nought can this scheme avail.

HEL. But I will say ’Tis not the usage, in a Grecian realm, With earth to cover the remains of those Who perished in the waves.

MEN. Thou hast again Removed this obstacle: I then with thee Will sail, and the funereal trappings place In the same vessel.

HEL. ’Tis of great importance That you, and all those mariners who ’scaped The shipwreck, should be present.

MEN. If we find A bark at anchor, with our falchions armed In one collected band will we assail And board it.

HEL. To direct all this, belongs To you; but may the prosperous breezes fill Our sails, and guide us o’er the billowy deep.

MEN. These vows shall be accomplished; for the gods At length will cause my toils to cease: but whence Wilt thou pretend thou heard’st that I was dead?

HEL. Yourself shall be the messenger; relate How you alone escaped his piteous doom, A partner of the voyage with the son Of Atreus, and the witness of his death.

MEN. This tattered vest will testify my shipwreck.

HEL. How seasonable was that which seemed at first To be a grievous loss! but the misfortune May end perhaps in bliss.

MEN. Must I with thee Enter the palace, or before this tomb Sit motionless?

HEL. Here stay: for if the king By force should strive to tear you hence, this tomb And your drawn sword will save you. But I’ll go To my apartment, shear my flowing hair, For sable weeds this snowy vest exchange, And rend with bloody nails these livid cheeks: For ’tis a mighty conflict, and I see These two alternatives: if in my plots Detected, I must die; or to my country I shall return, and save your life. O Juno, Thou sacred queen, who shar’st the couch of Jove, Relieve two wretches from their toils; to thee Our suppliant arms uplifting high t’wards Heaven With glittering stars adorned, thy blest abode, We sue: and thou, O Venus, who didst gain The palm of beauty through my promised ’spousals, Spare me, thou daughter of Dione, spare; For thou enough hast injured me already; Exposing not my person, but my name, To those barbarians; suffer me to die, If thou wilt slay me, in my native land. Why art thou still insatiably malignant? Why dost thou harass me by love, by fraud, By the invention of these new deceits, And by thy magic philtres plunge in blood Our miserable house? If thou hadst ruled With mildness, thou to man hadst been most grateful Of all the gods. I speak not this at random.

[HELEN _and_ MENELAUS _retire behind the tomb_.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

On thee who build’st thy tuneful seat Protected by the leafy groves, I call, O nightingale, thy accents ever sweet Their murmuring melancholy fall Prolong! O come, and with thy plaintive strain Aid me to utter my distress, Thy woes, O Helen, let the song express, And those of Troy now levelled with the plain By Grecian might. From hospitable shores, Relying on barbaric oars, The spoiler Paris fled, And o’er the deep to Priam’s realm with pride Bore his imaginary bride, Fancying that thou hadst graced his bed, To nuptials fraught with shame by wanton Venus led.

I. 2.

Unnumbered Greeks, transpierced with spears, Or crushed beneath the falling ramparts, bled: Hence with her tresses shorn, immersed in tears The matron wails her lonely bed, But Nauplius, kindling near th’ Eubœan deep Those torches, o’er our host prevailed; Though with a single bark the traitor sailed, He wrecked whole fleets against Caphareus’ steep, And the Ægean coasts, the beacon seemed A star, and through Heaven’s conclave gleamed, Placed on the craggy height. While flushed with conquest, from the Phrygian strand They hastened to their native land, Portentous source of bloody fight, The cloud by Juno formed, beguiled their dazzled sight.

II. 1.

Whether the image was divine, Drew from terrestrial particles its birth, Or from the middle region, how define By curious search, ye sons of earth? Far from unravelling Heaven’s abstruse intents, We view the world tost to and fro, Mark strange vicissitudes of joy and woe, Discordant and miraculous events. Thou, Helen, art indeed the child of Jove. The swan, thy sire, inflamed by love, To Leda’s bosom flew: Yet with imputed crimes malignant fame Through Greece arraigns thy slandered name. Of men I know not whom to trust, But what the gods pronounce have I found ever just.

II. 2.

Frantic are ye who seek renown Amid the horrors of th’ embattled field, Who masking guilt beneath a laurel crown With nervous arm the falchion wield, Not slaughtered thousands can your fury sate. If still success the judgment guide, If bloody battle right and wrong decide, Incessant strife must vex each rival state: Hence from her home departs each Phrygian wife, O Helen, when the cruel strife Which from thy charms arose, One conference might have closed: now myriads dwell With Pluto in the shades of Hell, And flames, as when Jove’s vengeance throws The bolt, have caught her towers and finished Ilion’s woes.

THEOCLYMENUS, CHORUS (HELEN _and_ MENELAUS _behind the tomb_).

THEOC. Hail, O thou tomb of my illustrious sire! For thee have I interred before my gate, That with thy shade I might hold frequent conference, O Proteus; Theoclymenus thy son Thee, O my father, oft as he goes forth, Oft as he enters these abodes, accosts. But to the palace now convey those hounds And nets, my servants. I full many a time Have blamed myself, because I never punished With death such miscreants; now I am informed That publicly some Greek to these domains Is come unnoticed by my guards, a spy, Or one who means to carry Helen off By stealth: but if I seize him, he shall die. Methinks I find all over: for the daughter Of Tyndarus sits no longer at the tomb, But from these shores hath fled, and now is crossing The billowy deep. Unbar the gates, bring forth My coursers from the stalls, and brazen cars; Lest through my want of vigilance the dame Whom I would make my consort, should escape me, Borne from this land. Yet stay; for I behold Those we pursue still here beneath this roof, Nor are they fled. Ho! why in sable vest Hast thou arrayed thyself, why cast aside Thy robes of white, and from thy graceful head With ruthless steel thy glowing ringlets shorn, And wherefore bathed thy cheek with recent tears? Groan’st thou, by visions of the night apprized Of some calamity, or hast thou heard Within, a rumour that afflicts thy soul?

HEL. My lord (for I already by that name Accost you), I am utterly undone, My former bliss is vanished, and I now Am nothing.

THEOC. Art thou plunged into distress So irretrievable? what cruel fate Hath overtaken thee?

HEL. My Menelaus, (Ah, how shall I express myself?) is dead.

THEOC. Although I must not triumph in th’ event Thou speak’st of, yet to me ’tis most auspicious. How know’st thou? Did Theonoe tell thee this?

HEL. She and this mariner, who when he perished Was present, both concur in the same tale.

THEOC. Is there a man arrived, who for the truth Of that account can vouch?

HEL. He is arrived: And would to Heaven that such auspicious fortune As I could wish attended him.

THEOC. Who is he? Where is he? I would know the real fact.

HEL. ’Tis he who stupefied with sorrow sits Upon the tomb.

THEOC. In what unseemly garb Is he arrayed, O Phœbus!

HEL. In that dress, Ah me! methinks my husband I behold.

THEOC. But in what country was the stranger born, And whence did he come hither?

HEL. He’s a Greek, One of those Greeks who with my husband sailed.

THEOC. How doth he say that Menelaus died?

HEL. Most wretchedly, engulfed amid the waves.

THEOC. Where? as he passed o’er the barbarian seas?

HEL. Dashed on the rocks of Libya, which affords No haven.

THEOC. But whence happened it, that he This partner of his voyage did not perish?

HEL. The worthless are more prosperous than the brave.

THEOC. Where left he the wrecked fragments of his ship When he came hither?

HEL. There, where would to Heaven Perdition had o’ertaken him, and spared The life of Menelaus.

THEOC. He, it seems, Is then no more: but in what bark arrived This messenger?

HEL. Some sailors, as he says, By chance passed by, and snatched him from the waves.

THEOC. But where’s that hateful pest which in thy stead Was sent to Ilion?

HEL. Speak you of a cloud, Resembling me? it mounted to the skies.

THEOC. O Priam, for how frivolous a cause Thou with thy Troy didst perish!

HEL. In their woes I too have been involved.

THEOC. But did he leave Thy husband’s corse unburied, or strew dust O’er his remains?

HEL. He left them uninterred, Ah, wretched me!

THEOC. And didst thou for this cause Sever the ringlets of thy auburn hair?

HEL. Still is he dear, lodged in this faithful breast

THEOC. Hast thou sufficient reason then to weep For this calamity?

HEL. Could you bear lightly Your sister’s death?

THEOC. No surely. But what means Thy still residing at this marble tomb?

HEL. Why do you harass me with taunting words, And why disturb the dead?

THEOC. Because, still constant To thy first husband, from my love thou fliest.

HEL. But I will fly no longer: haste, begin The nuptial rite.

THEOC. ’Twas long ere thou didst come To this: but I such conduct must applaud.

HEL. Know you then how to act? let us forget All that has passed.

THEOC. Upon what terms? with kindness Should kindness be repaid.

HEL. Let us conclude The peace, and O be reconciled.

THEOC. All strife With thee I to the winds of heaven consign.

HEL. Now, since you are my friend, I by those knees Conjure you.

THEOC. With what object in thy view, To me an earnest suppliant dost thou bend?

HEL. I my departed husband would inter.

THEOC. What tomb can be bestowed upon the absent Wouldst thou inter his shade?

HEL. There is a custom Among the Greeks established, that the man Who in the ocean perishes——

THEOC. What is it? For in such matters Pelops’ race are wise.

HEL. To bury in their stead an empty vest.

THEOC. Perform funereal rites, and heap the tomb On any ground thou wilt.

HEL. We in this fashion Bury not the drowned mariner.

THEOC. How then? I am a stranger to the Grecian customs.

HEL. Each pious gift due to our breathless friends We cast into the sea.

THEOC. On the deceased What presents for thy sake can I bestow?

HEL. I know not: for in offices like these Am I unpractised, having erst been happy.

THEOC. An acceptable message have you brought, O stranger.

MEN. Most ungrateful to myself And the deceased.

THEOC. What funereal rites on those Ocean hath swallowed up, do ye bestow?

MEN. Such honours as each individual’s wealth Enables us to pay him.

THEOC. Name the cost, And for her sake receive whate’er you will.

MEN. Blood is our first libation to the dead.

THEOC. What blood? inform me, for with your instructions I will comply.

MEN. Determine that thyself, For whatsoe’er thou giv’st will be sufficient.

THEOC. The customary victims ’mong barbarians Are either horse or bull.

MEN. Whate’er thou giv’st, Let it be somewhat princely.

THEOC. My rich herds With these are amply furnished.

MEN. And the bier Without the corse is borne in solemn state.

THEOC. It shall: but what is there beside which custom Requires to grace the funeral.

MEN. Brazen arms: For war was what he loved.

THEOC. We will bestow Such presents as are worthy of the race Of mighty Pelops.

MEN. And those budding flowers Th’ exuberant soil produces.

THEOC. But say, how And in what manner ye these offerings plunge Into the ocean.

MEN. We must have a bark And mariners to ply the oars.

THEOC. How far Will they launch forth the vessel from the strand?

MEN. So far as from the shore thou scarce wilt see The keel divide the waves.

THEOC. But why doth Greece Observe this usage?

MEN. ’Lest the rising billows Cast back to land th’ ablutions.

THEOC. Ye shall have A swift Phœnician vessel.

MEN. This were kind, And no small favour shown to Menelaus.

THEOC. Without her presence, cannot you perform These rites alone?

MEN. Such task or to a mother, Or wife, or child, belongs.

THEOC. ’Tis then her duty, You say, to bury her departed lord?

MEN. Sure, piety instructs us not to rob The dead of their accustomed dues.

THEOC. Enough: On me it is incumbent to promote Such virtue in my consort. I will enter The palace, and from thence for the deceased Bring forth rich ornaments; with empty hands You from this region will not I send forth, That you may execute what she desires. But having brought me acceptable tidings, Instead of these vile weeds shall you receive A decent garb and food, that to your country You may return: for clearly I perceive That you are wretched now. But torture not Thy bosom with unprofitable cares, O hapless woman, for thy Menelaus Is now no more, nor can the dead revive.

MEN. Thee it behoves, O blooming dame, to love Thy present husband, and to lay aside The fond remembrance of thy breathless lord; For such behaviour suits thy fortunes best. But if to Greece with safety I return, That infamy which erst pursued thy name I’ll cause to cease, if thou acquit thyself Of these great duties like a virtuous consort.

HEL. I will; nor shall my husband e’er have cause To blame me: you too, who are here, shall witness The truth of my assertions. But within Go lave your wearied limbs, O wretched man, And change your habit; for without delay To you will I become a benefactress. Hence too with greater zeal will you perform The rites my dearest Menelaus claims, If all due honours you from me receive.

[_Exeunt_ THEOCLYMENUS, HELEN, _and_ MENELAUS.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

O’er mountains erst with hasty tread Did the celestial mother stray, Nor stop where branching thickets spread, Where rapid torrents crossed her way, Or on the margin of the billowy deep; Her daughter whom we dread to name She wept, while hailing that majestic dame, Cymbals of Bacchus from the craggy steep Sent forth their clear and piercing sound, Her car the harnessed dragons drew; Following the nymph torn from her virgin crew. Amidst her maidens swift of foot were found Diana skilled the bow to wield, Minerva, who in glittering state Brandished the spear and raised her Gorgon shield; But Jove looked down from Heaven t’ award another fate.

I. 2.

Soon as the mother’s toils were o’er, When she had finished her career, And sought the ravished maid no more, To caves where drifted snows appear, By Ida’s nymphs frequented, did she pass, And threw herself in sorrow lost, On rocks and herbage crusted o’er with frost, Despoiled the wasted champaign of its grass, Rendered the peasant’s tillage vain, Consuming a dispeopled land With meagre famine; Spring at her command Denied the flocks that sickened on the plain The leafy tendrils of the vine; Whole cities died, no victims bled, No frankincense perfumed Heaven’s vacant shrine; Nor burst the current from the Spring’s obstructed head.

II. 1.

Then ceased the banquet, wont to charm Both gods above and men below: The mother’s anger to disarm, And mitigate the stings of woe, Till in these words Jove uttered his behests: “Let each benignant grace attend Sweet music’s sympathizing aid to lend, And drive corrosive grief from Ceres’ breast Indignant for her ravished child: Now, O ye Muses, with the lyre Join the shrill hymns of your assembled choir, The brazen trumpet fill with accents wild, And beat the rattling drums amain.” Then first of the immortal band, Venus with lovely smile approved the strain, And raised the deep-toned flute in her enchanting hand.

II. 2.

The laws reproved such foul desire, Yet ’gainst religion didst thou wed; Thy uncle caught love’s baleful fire, And rushed to thy incestuous bed. Thee shall the mighty mother’s wrath confound, Because, through thee, before her shrine No victims slain appease the powers divine. Great virtue have hinds’ hides, and ivy wound Upon a consecrated rod; And youths, with virgins in a ring, When high from earth with matchless force they spring, Loose streams their hair, they celebrate that god The Bacchanalian votaries own, And waste in dance the sleepless night. But thou, confiding in thy charms alone, Forgett’st the moon that shines with more transcendent light.

HELEN, CHORUS.

HEL. Within the palace, O my friends, we prosper For Proteus’ royal daughter, in our schemes Conspiring when her brother questioned her About my lord, no information gave Of his arrival: to my interests true She said, that cold in death he views no longer The radiant sun. But now my lord hath seized A vengeful falchion, in that mail designed To have been plunged beneath the deep arrayed, With nervous arm he lifts an orbed shield, In his right hand protended gleams the spear, As if with me he was prepared to pay To the deceased due homage. Furnished thus With brazen arms, he’s ready for the battle, And numberless barbarians will subdue Unaided, soon as we the ship ascend. Exchanging those unseemly weeds which clothe The shipwrecked mariner, in splendid robes Have I arrayed him, from transparent springs The laver filled, and bathed his wearied limbs But I must now be silent, for the man Who fancies I am ready to become His consort, leaves the palace. O my friends, In your attachment too I place my trust, Restrain your tongues, for we, when saved ourselves, If possible will save you from this thraldom.

THEOCLYMENUS, HELEN, MENELAUS, CHORUS.

THEOC. Go forth, in such procession as the stranger Directs you, O my servants, and convey These gifts funereal to the briny deep. But if thou disapprove not what I say, Do thou, O Helen, yield to my persuasions, And here remain. For whether thou attend, Or art not present at the obsequies Of thy departed husband, thou to him Wilt show an equal reverence. Much I dread Lest hurried on by wild desire thou plunge Into the foaming billows, for the sake Of him on whom thou doat’st, thy former lord, Since thou his doom immoderately bewail’st Though he be lost, and never can return.

HEL. O my illustrious husband, I am bound To pay due honours to the man whom first I wedded, of our ancient nuptial joys A memory still retaining, for so well I loved my lord that I could even die With him. But what advantage would result To the deceased, should I lay down my life? Yet let me go myself, and to his shade Perform each solemn rite. But may the gods, On you, and on the stranger who assists me In this my pious task, with liberal hand Confer the gifts I wish. But you in me Shall such a consort to your palace bear As you deserve, to recompense your kindness To me and Menelaus. Such events In some degree are measured by the will Of Fortune: but give orders for a ship To be prepared, these trappings to convey, So shall your purposed bounty be complete.

THEOC. [_to one of his Attendants._] Go thou, and furnish them a Tyrian bark Of fifty oars, with skilful sailors manned.

HEL. But may not he who decorates the tomb Govern the ship?

THEOC. My sailors must to him Yield an implicit deference.

HEL. This injunction Repeat, that they may clearly understand it.

THEOC. A second time, will I, and yet a third, Issue this self-same mandate, if to thee This can give pleasure.

HEL. May the gods confer Blessings on you, and prosper my designs!

THEO. Waste not thy bloom with unavailing tears.

HEL. To you this day my gratitude will prove.

THEOC. All these attentions to the dead are nought But unavailing toil.

HEL. My pious care Not to those only whom the silent grave Contains, but to the living too extends.

THEOC. In me thou mayst expect to find a husband Who yields not to the Spartan Menelaus.

HEL. I censure not your conduct, but bewail My own harsh destiny.

THEOC. Bestow thy love On me, and prosperous fortunes shall return.

HEL. It is a lesson I have practised long, To love my friends.

THEOC. Shall I my navy launch, To join in these funereal rites?

HEL. Dread lord, Pay not unseemly homage to your vassals.

THEOC. Well! I each sacred usage will allow Practised by Pelops’ race, for my abodes Are undefiled with blood: thy Menelaus In Ægypt died not. But let some one haste And bid the nobles bear into my house The bridal gifts: for the whole earth is bound To celebrate in one consenting hymn My blest espousals with the lovely Helen. But go, embark upon the briny main, O stranger, and as soon as ye have paid All decent homage to her former lord Bring back my consort hither: that with me When you have feasted at our nuptial rite You to your native mansion may return, Or here continue in a happy state.

[_Exit_ THEOCLYMENUS.

MEN. O Jove, thou mighty father, who art called A god supreme in wisdom, from thy heaven Look down, and save us from our woes: delay not To aid us: for we drag the galling yoke Of sorrow and mischance: if with thy finger Thou do but touch us, we shall soon attain The fortune which we wish for, since the toils We have endured already are sufficient. Ye gods, I now invoke you, from my mouth So shall ye hear full many joyful accents Mixed with these bitter plaints: for I deserve not To be for ever wretched; but to tread At length secure. O grant me this one favour, And make my future life completely blest.

[_Exeunt_ MENELAUS _and_ HELEN.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

Swift bark of Sidon, by whose dashing oars Divided oft, the frothy billows rise, Propitious be thy voyage from these shores: In thy train the dolphins play, O’er the deep thou lead’st the way, While motionless its placid surface lies. Soon as Serenity the fair, That azure daughter of the main, Shall in this animating strain Have spoken: “To the gentle breeze of air Expand each undulating sail, Row briskly on before the gale, Ye mariners, in Perseus’ ancient seat Till Helen rest her wearied feet.”

I. 2.

Those sacred nymphs shall welcome thy return Who guard the portals of Minerva’s fane Or speed the current from its murmuring urn: Choral dances of delight That prolong the jocund night, At Hyacinthus’ banquet shalt thou join, Fair stripling, whom with luckless hand Unwitting did Apollo slay At games that crowned the festive day, Hurling his quoit on the Laconian strand; To him Jove’s son due honours paid: At Sparta too, that lovely maid Shalt thou behold, whom there thou left’st behind, Still to celibacy consigned.

II. 1.

O might we cleave the air, like Libyan cranes, Who fly in ranks th’ impending wintry storm; When their shrill leader bids them quit the plains, They the veteran’s voice obey, O’er rich harvests wing their way, Or where parched wastes th’ unfruitful scene deform. With lengthened neck, ye feathered race Who skim the clouds in social band, Where the seven Pleiades expand Their radiance, and Orion heaves his mace, This joyous embassy convey As near Eurotas’ banks ye stray; That Menelaus to his subject land Victorious comes from Phrygia’s strand.

II. 2.

Borne in your chariot down th’ ethereal height, At length, ye sons of Tyndarus, appear, While vibrates o’er your heads the starry light: Habitants of heaven above, Now exert fraternal love, If ever Helen to your souls was dear, A calm o’er th’ azure ocean spread, Bridle the tempests of the main, Propitious gales from Jove obtain, Your sister snatch from the barbarian’s bed: Commenced on Ida’s hill, that strife, Embittered with reproach her life, Although she never viewed proud Ilion’s tower Reared by Apollo’s matchless power.

THEOCLYMENUS, MESSENGER, CHORUS.

MES. O king, I have discovered in the palace, Events most inauspicious: what fresh woes Is it my doleful office to relate!

THEOC. Say what hath happened?

MES. Seek another wife, For Helen hath departed from this realm.

THEOC. Borne through the air on wings, or with swift foot Treading the ground?

MES. Her o’er the briny main From Ægypt’s shores, hath Menelaus wafted, Who came in person with a feigned account Of his own death.

THEOC. O dreadful tale! what ship From these domains conveys her? thou relat’st Tidings the most incredible.

MES. The same You to that stranger gave, and in one word To tell you all, he carries off your sailors.

THEOC. How is that possible? I wish to know: For such an apprehension never entered My soul, as that one man could have subdued The numerous band of mariners, with whom Thou wert sent forth.

MES. When from the royal mansion Jove’s daughter to the shore was borne, she trod With delicate and artful step, pretending To wail her husband’s loss, though he was present, And yet alive. But when we reached the haven, Sidonia’s largest vessel we hauled forth, Furnished with benches, and with fifty oars; But a fresh series of incessant toil Followed this toil; for while one fixed the mast, Another ranged the oars, and with his hand The signal gave, the sails were bound together, Then was the rudder fastened to the stern With thongs, cast forth: while they observed us busied In such laborious task, the Grecian comrades Of Menelaus to the shore advanced, Clad in their shipwrecked vestments. Though their form Was graceful, yet their visages were squalid: But Atreus’ son, beholding their approach, Under the semblance of a grief that masked His treacherous purpose, in these words addressed them: “How, O ye wretched sailors, from what bark Of Greece that hath been wrecked upon this coast Are ye come hither? will ye join with us In the funereal rites of Menelaus, Whom Tyndarus’s daughter, to an empty tomb Consigns, though absent?” Simulated tears They shed, and went aboard the ship, conveying The presents to be cast into the sea For Menelaus. But to us these things Appeared suspicious, and we made remarks Among ourselves upon the numerous band Of our intruding passengers; but checked Our tongues from speaking openly, through deference To your commands. For when you to that stranger Trusted the guidance of the ship, you caused This dire confusion. All beside, with ease Had we now lodged aboard, but could not force The sturdy bull t’ advance; he bellowing rolled His eyes around, bending his back and low’ring Betwixt his horns, nor dared we to approach And handle him. But Helen’s husband cried: “O ye who laid Troy waste, will ye forget To act like Greeks? why scruple ye to seize And on your youthful shoulders heave the beast Up to the rising prow, a welcome victim To the deceased?” His falchion, as he spoke, The warrior drew. His summons they obeyed, Seized the stout bull, and carried him aboard: But Menelaus stroked the horse’s neck And face, and with this gentle usage led him Into the bark. At length when all its freight The vessel had received, with graceful foot Helen, the steps ascending, took her seat On the mid deck; and Menelaus near her, E’en he who they pretended was no more. But some on the right side, and on the left Others in equal numbers, man to man Opposed, their station took, their swords concealing Beneath their garments. We distinctly heard The clamorous sailors animate each other To undertake the voyage. But from land When a convenient distance we had steered, The pilot asked this question: “Shall we sail, O stranger, any farther from the coast, Or is this right? for ’tis my task to guide The vessel.” He replied: “Enough for me.” Then seized with his right hand the falchion, leaped Upon the prow, and standing o’er the bull The victim (without mentioning the name Of any chief deceased; but as he drove The weapon through his neck) thus prayed: “O Neptune, Who in the ocean dwell’st, and ye chaste daughters Of Nereus, to the Nauplian shore convey Me and my consort, from this hostile land, In safety.” But a crimson tide of blood, Auspicious to the stranger, stained the waves; And some exclaimed: “There’s treachery in this voyage, Let us sail homewards, issue thy commands, And turn the rudder.” But the son of Atreus, Who had just slain the bull, to his companions Called loudly: “Why delay, O ye the flower Of Greece, to smite, to slaughter those barbarians, And cast them from the ship into the waves?” But to your sailors our commander spoke A different language: “Will not some of you Tear up a plank, or with a shattered bench, Or ponderous oar, upon the bleeding heads Of those audacious foreigners our foes, Impress the ghastly wound?” But on their feet All now stood up; our hands with nautic poles Were armed, and theirs with swords: a tide of slaughter Ran down the ship. But Helen from the poop The Greeks encouraged; “Where is the renown Ye gained at Troy? display ’gainst these barbarians The same undaunted prowess.” In their haste Full many fell, some rose again, the rest Might you have seen stretched motionless in death. But Menelaus, sheathed in glittering mail, Wherever his confederates he descried Hard pressed, rushed thither with his lifted sword, Driving us headlong from the lofty deck Into the waves, and forced your mariners To quit their oars. But the victorious king Now seized the rudder, and to Greece declared He would convey the ship: they hoisted up The stately mast: propitious breezes came; They left the land: but I from death escaping, Let myself gently down into the waves Borne on the cordage which sustains the anchor; My strength began to fail, when some kind hand Threw forth a rope, and brought me safe ashore, That I to you these tidings might convey. There’s nought more beneficial to mankind Than wise distrust.

CHOR. I never could have thought That Menelaus who was here, O king, Could have imposed so grossly or on you Or upon us.

THEOC. Wretch that I am, ensnared By woman’s treacherous arts! the lovely bride I hoped for, hath escaped me. If the ship Could be o’ertaken by our swift pursuit, My wrongs would urge me with vindictive hand To seize the strangers. But I now will punish That sister who betrayed me; in my house Who when she saw the Spartan Menelaus, Informed me not: she never shall deceive Another man by her prophetic voice.

CHOR. Ho! whither, O my sovereign, would you go, And for what bloody purpose?

THEOC. Where the voice Of rigid justice summons me. Retire, And stand aloof.

CHOR. Yet will not I let loose Your garment; for you hasten to commit A deed most mischievous.

THEOC. Wouldst thou, a slave, Govern thy lord?

CHOR. Here reason’s on my side.

THEOC. That shall not I allow, if thou refuse To quit thy hold.

CHOR. I will not then release you.

THEOC. To slay that worst of sisters.

CHOR. That most pious.

THEOC. Her who betrayed me.

CHOR. Glorious was the fraud That caused so just a deed.

THEOC. When she bestowed My consort on another.

CHOR. On the man Who had a better claim——

THEOC. But who is lord Of what belongs to me?

CHOR. Who from her sire Received her.

THEOC. She by Fortune was bestowed On me.

CHOR. But ta’en away again by Fate.

THEOC. Thou hast no right to judge of my affairs.

CHOR. If I but speak to give you better counsels.

THEOC. I am thy subject then, and not thy king.

CHOR. For having acted piously, your sister I vindicate.

THEOC. Thou seem’st to wish for death.

CHOR. Kill me. Your sister you with my consent Shall never slay; I rather would yield up My life on her behalf. It is most glorious To generous servants for their lords to die.

CASTOR _and_ POLLUX, THEOCLYMENUS, CHORUS.

CAS. _and_ POL. Restrain that ire that hurries thee away Beyond the bounds of reason, O thou king Of Ægypt’s realm; and listen to the voice Of us twin sons of Jove, whom Leda bore Together with that Helen who is fled From thy abodes. Thou rashly hast indulged Thine anger, for the loss of her whom Fate Ne’er destined to thy bed. Nor hath thy sister Theonoe, from th’ immortal Nereid sprung, To thee done any injury; she reveres The gods, and her great father’s just behests. For till the present hour, was it ordained That Helen in thy palace should reside: But when Troy’s walls were from their bases torn, And she had to the rival goddesses Furnished her name, no longer was it fit That she should for thy nuptials be detained, But to her ancient home return, and dwell With her first husband. In thy sister’s breast Forbear to plunge the sword, and be convinced That she in this affair hath acted wisely. We long ere this our sister had preserved, Since Jove hath made us gods, but were too weak At once to combat the behests of Fate, And the immortal powers, who had ordained That these events should happen. This to thee, O Theoclymenus, I speak. These words Next to my lovely sister, I address; Sail with your husband, for a prosperous breeze Your voyage shall attend. We your protectors And your twin brothers, on our coursers borne Over the waves, will guide you to your country, But after you have finished life’s career, You shall be called a goddess, shall partake With us the rich oblations, and receive The gifts of men: for thus hath Jove decreed. But where the son of Maia placed you first, When he had borne you from the Spartan realm, And formed by stealth from the aërial mansions An image of your person, to prevent Paris from wedding you, there is an isle Near the Athenian realm, which men shall call Helen in future times, because that spot Received you, when in secrecy conveyed From Sparta. The Heavens also have ordained The wanderer Menelaus shall reside Among the happy islands. For the gods To those of nobler minds no hatred bear; At their command though grievous toil await The countless multitude.

THEOC. Ye sons of Jove And Leda, I the contest will decline Which I at first so violently urged, Hoping your lovely sister to obtain, And my own sister’s life resolve to spare: Let Helen to her native shores return, If ’tis the will of Heaven: but be assured, The same high blood ye spring from with the best And chastest sister: hail then, for the sake Of Helen with a lofty soul endued, Such as in female bosoms seldom dwells.

CHOR. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume The gods perform what least we could expect, And oft the things for which we fondly hoped Come not to pass; but Heaven still finds a clue To guide our steps through life’s perplexing maze, And thus doth this important business end.

ANDROMACHE.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

ANDROMACHE. ATTENDANT. CHORUS OF PHTHIAN WOMEN. HERMIONE. MENELAUS. MOLOSSUS. PELEUS. NURSE OF HERMIONE. ORESTES. MESSENGER. THETIS.

SCENE.—THE VESTIBULE OF THETIS’ TEMPLE BETWEEN PHTHIA AND PHARSALIA IN THESSALY.

ANDROMACHE.

O Thebes, thou pride of Asia, from whose gate I came resplendent with a plenteous dower, To Priam’s regal house, the fruitful wife Of Hector: his Andromache was erst An envied name: but now am I more wretched Than any woman, or already born, Or to be born hereafter; for I saw My husband Hector by Achilles slain, And that unhappy son whom to my lord I bore, Astyanax, from Troy’s high towers Thrown headlong; when our foes had sacked the city, Myself descended from a noble line Of freeborn warriors, reached the Grecian coast, On Neoptolemus that island prince For the reward of his victorious arms Bestowed: selected from the Phrygian spoils. ’Twixt Phthia and Pharsalia, in these fields, I dwell, where Thetis from the haunts of men Retreating, with her Peleus erst abode. By Thessaly’s inhabitants, this spot Is from th’ auspicious nuptials of that goddess Called Thetidæum: here Achilles’ son Residing, suffers Peleus still to rule Pharsalia’s land, nor will assume the sceptre While lives his aged grandsire. In these walls A son, who to th’ embraces of my lord Achilles’ offspring, owes his birth, I bore, And though I had been wretched, a fond hope Still cherished, that while yet the boy was safe I some protection and relief might find In my calamities; but since my lord (Spurning my servile couch) that Spartan dame Hermione espoused, with ruthless hate By her am I pursued; for she pretends That I, by drugs endued with magic power, Administered in secret, make her barren And odious to her lord, because I wish To occupy this mansion in her stead, And forcibly to drive her from his couch, To which, at first I with reluctance came, But now have left it: mighty Jove can witness That I became the partner of his bed Against my own consent. But she remains Deaf to conviction, and attempts to slay me: In this design her father Menelaus Assists his daughter, he is now within, And on such errand left the Spartan realm: Fearing his rage, I near the palace take My seat, in Thetis’ temple, that the goddess From death may save me; for both Peleus’ self, And the descendants of that monarch, hold This structure reared in memory of his wedlock With the fair Nereid, in religious awe. But hence, in secret, trembling for his life, My only child have I conveyed away, Because his noble father is not present To aid me, and avails not now to guard His son, while absent in the Delphic land, To expiate there the rage with which he sought The Pythian tripod, and from Phœbus claimed A reparation for his father’s death. If haply he can deprecate the curses Attendant on his past misdeeds, and make The god propitious to his future days.

FEMALE ATTENDANT, ANDROMACHE.

ATT. My queen, for still I scruple not to use The same respectful title which I gave you When we in Ilion dwelt; you and your lord While he was living, shared my duteous love, And now I with important tidings fraught To you am come, trembling indeed lest one Of our new rulers overhear the tale, Yet greatly pitying your disastrous fate: For Menelaus and his daughter form Dire plots against you; of these foes beware.

AND. O my dear fellow-servant (for thou shar’st Her bondage who was erst thy queen, but now Is wretched), ah! what mean they? what fresh schemes Have they devised to take away my life, Who am by woes encompassed?

ATT. They intend, O miserable dame, to kill your son, Whom privately you from this house conveyed.

AND. Are they informed I sent the child away? Ah me! who told them? in what utter ruin Am I involved!

ATT. I know not; but thus much Of their designs I heard; in quest of him Is Menelaus from these doors gone forth.

AND. Then am I lost indeed: for, O my child, These two relentless vultures mean to seize thee, And take away thy life, while he who bears A father’s name, at Delphi still remains.

ATT. You had not fared so ill, I am convinced, If he were present, but now every friend Deserts you.

AND. Is there not a rumour spread Of Peleus’ coming?

ATT. He, though he were here, Is grown too old to aid you.

AND. More than once I sent to him.

ATT. Suppose you that he heeds None of your messengers?

AND. What means this question? Wilt thou accept such office?

ATT. What pretext To colour my long absence from this house Shall I allege?

AND. Full many are the schemes Which thou, who art a woman, can devise.

ATT. ’Twere dangerous; for Hermione is watchful.

AND. Dost thou perceive the danger, and renounce Thy friends in their distress?

ATT. Not thus: forbear To brand me with so infamous a charge: I go; for of small value is the life (Whate’er befall me) of a female slave.

[_Exit_ ATTENDANT.

AND. Proceed: meanwhile I to the conscious air Those plaints and bitter wailings will repeat, On which I ever dwell. Unhappy women Find comfort in perpetually talking Of what they suffer. But my groans arise Not from one ill, but many ills: the walls Of my loved country razed, my Hector slain, And that hard fortune, in whose yoke bound fast, Thus am I fallen into th’ unseemly state Of servitude. We never ought to call Frail mortals happy, at their latest hour Till we behold them to the shades descend.

ELEGY.

In Helen sure, to Troy’s imperial towers Young Paris wafted no engaging bride, But when he led her to those nuptial bowers, Some fiend infernal crossed the billowy tide.

With brandished javelin and devouring flame, For her the Grecian warriors to thy shore, O Ilion, in a thousand vessels came, And drenched thy smould’ring battlements with gore.

Around the walls, my Hector, once thy boast, Fixed to his car, was by Achilles borne, And from my chamber hurried to the coast I veiled my head in servitude forlorn.

Much wept these streaming eyes, when in the dust My city, palace, husband, prostrate lay. Subject to fierce Hermione’s disgust, Why should I still behold the hated day?

Harassed with insults from that haughty dame, Round Thetis’ bust my suppliant arms I fling, And here with gushing tears bewail my shame, As from the rock bursts forth the living spring.

CHORUS, ANDROMACHE.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

O thou, who seated in this holy space, Hast Thetis’ temple thy asylum made, Though Phthia gave me birth, to aid Thee, hapless dame of Asiatic race, I hither come; would I from direful harms Could guard, could heal the strife ’Twixt thee and that indignant wife Hermione, whom ruthless discord arms To punish thee the rival of her charms, A captive, to the genial bed, Who by Achilles’ son wert led.

I. 2.

Aware of fate, th’ impending evil weigh, A helpless Phrygian nymph, thou striv’st in vain ’Gainst her of Sparta’s proud domain: Cease, to this sea-born goddess, cease to pray, And at her blazing shrine no longer stay: For how can it avail To thee with hopeless sorrow pale To suffer all thy beauties to decay, Because thy rulers with oppression sway? Thou to superior might must bend. Why, feeble as thou art, contend?

II. 1.

Yet hasten from the Nereid’s lofty seat, Consider that thou tread’st a foreign plain, And that these hostile walls detain In strictest bondage thy reluctant feet, Here none of all those friends, that numerous band, Who shared thy greatness, is at hand, To cheer thee in these days of shame, O wretched, wretched dame.

II. 2.

A miserable matron thou art come From Troy to our abodes, unwilling guest; Though mine the sympathizing breast, Yet I through reverence to our lords am dumb, Lest she, who springs from Helen, child of Jove, Should be a witness of that love Which I to thee whose griefs I share, Impelled by pity bear.

HERMIONE, ANDROMACHE, CHORUS.

HER. The gorgeous ornaments of gold, these brows Encircling, and the tissued robes I wear, I from Achilles’, or from Peleus’ stores, As chosen presents when I hither came, Received not, but from Sparta’s realm, these gifts My father Menelaus hath bestowed With a large dower, that I might freely speak Such is the answer which to you I make, O Phthian dames. But thou, who art a slave And captive, wouldst in these abodes usurp Dominion, and expel me; to my lord Thy drugs have made me odious, hence ensues My barrenness: the Asiatic dames, For these abhorred devices are renowned; But thee will I subdue, nor shall this dome Of the immortal Nereid, nor her altar Or temple save thee from impending death; If either man or god should be disposed To rescue thee, ’twere fit, that to atone For the proud thoughts thou in thy happier days Didst nourish, thou shouldst tremble, at my knees Fall low, and sweep the pavement of my house, Sprinkling the waters from a golden urn. Know where thou art: no Hector governs here, No Phrygian Priam doth this sceptre wield; This is no Chrysa, but a Grecian city. Yet thou, O wretched woman, art arrived At such a pitch of madness, that thou dar’st To sleep e’en with the son of him who slew Thy husband, and a brood of children bear To him whose hands yet reek with Phrygian gore, Such is the whole abhorred barbarian race; The father with his daughter, the vile son With his own mother, with her brother too The sister, sins, friends by their dearest friends Are murdered; deeds like these no wholesome law Prohibits: introduce not among us Such crimes, for ’tis unseemly that one man Possess two women; the fond youth who seeks Domestic harmony, confines his love To one fair partner of the genial bed.

CHOR. The female sex are envious, and pursue With an incessant hatred those who share Their nuptial joys.

AND. Alas! impetuous youth Proves baleful to mankind, and there are none Who act with justice in their blooming years. But what I dread is this, lest slavery curb My tongue, though I have many truths to utter: In this dispute with you, if I prevail, That very triumph may become my bane: For those of haughty spirits ill endure The most prevailing arguments when urged By their inferiors. Yet my better cause I will not thus betray. Say, youthful princess, What reasons of irrefragable force Enable me to drive you from the couch Of your own lawful husband? to the Phrygians Is Sparta grown inferior, and hath fortune On us conferred the palm? Do you behold me Still free? elate with youth, a vigorous frame, The wide extent of empire I possess, And number of my friends, am I desirous To occupy these mansions in your stead, That in your stead I might bring forth a race Of slaves, th’ appendages of my distress? Will any one endure (if you produce No children) that my sons should be the kings Of Phthia?—the Greeks love me for the sake Of Hector, I too was forsooth obscure, And not a queen, in Troy. Your husband’s hate, Not from my drugs, but from your soul, unsuited For social converse, springs: there is a philtre To gain his love. Not beauty, but the virtues, O woman, to the partners of our bed Afford delight. But if it sting your pride That Sparta’s a vast city, while you treat Scyros with scorn, amidst the poor, display Your riches, and of Menelaus speak As greater than Achilles; hence your lord Abhors you. For a woman, though bestowed On a vile mate, should learn to yield, nor strive For the pre-eminence. In Thrace o’erspread With snow, if you were wedded to a king, Who to his bed takes many various dames, Would you have slain them? you would cast disgrace On your whole sex by such unsated lust; Base were the deed: for though our souls are warmed With more intense desires than those of men We modestly conceal them. For thy sake I, O my dearest Hector, loved the objects Of thy affections, whene’er Venus’ wiles Caused thee to err, and at my breast full oft Nourished thy spurious children, that in nought Thy joys I might embitter: acting thus I won him by my virtues. But you tremble E’en if the drops of Heaven’s transparent dew Rest on your husband. Strive not to transcend Your mother in a wild excess of love, O woman. For the children, if endued With reason, such examples should avoid Of those who bore them, as corrupt the soul.

CHOR. As far as possible, O queen, comply With my advice, and in mild terms accost her.

HER. What mean’st thou by this arrogance of speech, This vain debate, as if thou still wert chaste, And I had strayed from virtue’s path?

AND. The words You have been using, now at least are void Of modesty.

HER. O woman, may this breast Harbour no soul like thine.

AND. Though bashful youth Glow on your cheek, indecent is your language.

HER. Thou by thy actions more than by thy words Hast proved the malice which to me thou bear’st.

AND. Why will you not conceal th’ inglorious pangs Of jealous love?

HER. What woman but resents Such wrongs, and deems them great?

AND. The use some make Of these misfortunes adds to their renown: But shame waits those who are devoid of wisdom.

HER. We dwell not in a city where prevail Barbarian laws.

AND. In Phrygia or in Greece Base actions are with infamy attended.

HER. Though most expert in every subtle art, Yet die thou must.

AND. Behold you Thetis’ image Turning its eyes on you?

HER. She loathes thy country Where her Achilles treacherously was slain.

AND. Your mother Helen caused his death, not I.

HER. Wouldst thou retrace still farther the sad tale Of our misfortunes?

AND. I restrain my tongue.

HER. Speak to me now on that affair which caused My coming hither.

AND. All I say is this: You have not so much wisdom as you need.

HER. From this pure temple of the sea-born goddess Wilt thou depart?

AND. Not while I live: you first Must slay, then drag me hence.

HER. I am resolved How to proceed, and wait my lord’s return No longer.

AND. Nor will I before he come Surrender up myself.

HER. With flaming brands Hence will I drive thee, and no deference pay To thy entreaties.

AND. Kindle them; the gods Will view the deed.

HER. The scourge too is prepared.

AND. Transpierce this bosom, deluge with my gore The altar of the goddess, you by her Shall be at length o’ertaken.

HER. From thy cradle, Trained up and hardened in barbarian pride, Canst thou endure to die? from this asylum Soon will I rouse thee by thy own consent, I with such baits am furnished, but conceal My purpose, which th’ event itself ere long Will make conspicuous. Keep a steady seat, For though by molten lead thou wert enclosed Hence would I rouse thee, ere Achilles’ son, Whom thou confid’st in, to this land return.

[_Exit_ HERMIONE.

AND. In him I place my still unshaken trust. Yet is it strange that the celestial powers, To heal the serpent’s venom, have assigned Expedients, but no remedy devised Against an evil woman who surpasses Or vipers’ stings or the consuming flame: Thus baleful is our influence on mankind.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

The winged son of Maia and of Jove To many sorrowful events gave birth, And scattered discord o’er the bleeding earth, When he through sacred Ida’s piny grove Guided the car of three immortal dames, (The golden prize of beauty to obtain, In hateful strife engaged, who urged their claims); To where in his mean hut abode a lonely swain.

I. 2.

No sooner had they reached the destined bower, Than in the limpid spring her snowy frame Each goddess laved; to Priam’s son then came With artful speeches of such winning power As might beguile the rash and amorous boy: Venus prevailed; her words, though sweet their sound, Proved of destructive consequence to Troy, Whose stately bulwarks hence lie levelled with the ground.

II. 1.

When new-born Paris first beheld the light, Would that his mother, o’er her head, this brand Ordained by Heaven to fire his native land, Had cast, before he dwelt on Ida’s height. Unheeded from the bay’s prophetic shade Exclaimed Cassandra: “Let the child be slain; Kill him, or Priam’s empire is betrayed.” Frantic she raved and sued to every prince in vain.

II. 2.

Deaf was each prince, or Ilion ne’er had felt The servile yoke, nor hadst thou, hapless fair, Beneath these roofs, encompassed by despair, And subject to a rigid master, dwelt. O had he died, the fated toil of Greece, That stubborn war through ten revolving years, Had roused no heroes from the lap of peace, Nor caused the widow’s shrieks, the hoary father’s tears.

MENELAUS, MOLOSSUS, ANDROMACHE, CHORUS.

MEN. Your son I hither bring, whom from this fane With secrecy, you to another house, Without my daughter’s knowledge, had removed. You boasted that this image of the goddess To you, and those who hid him, would afford A sure asylum: but your deep-laid craft, O woman, cannot baffle Menelaus. If you depart not hence, he in your stead Shall be the victim; therefore well revolve Th’ important question; had you rather die, Or, with his streaming gore, let him atone The foul offence ’gainst me and ’gainst my daughter By you committed?

AND. Thou, O vain opinion, Hast with renown puffed up full many men Who were of no account. I deem those blest On whom with truth such honour is bestowed: But them who by fallacious means obtain it I hold unworthy of possessing fame. When all their seeming wisdom but arises From Fortune’s gifts. Thou with the bravest chiefs Of Greece, from Priam erst didst wrest his Troy; E’en thou who art so mean as to inspire Thy daughter with resentment ’gainst a child, And strive with me a miserable captive: Unworthy of thy conquest over Troy Thee do I hold, and Troy yet more disgraced By such a victor. Some indeed there are To all appearance upright, who awhile Outwardly glitter, though they in their hearts Are on a level with the worthless bulk Of mortals, and superior but in wealth Whose power is great. This conference let us end, O Menelaus, be it now supposed I by thy daughter am already slain: ’Twill be impossible for her to ’scape From the pollution ruthless murder brings; Thou too by many tongues wilt be accused Of this vile deed, with her will they confound Thee the abettor. But if I preserve My life, are ye resolved to slay my son? How will the father tamely bear the death Of his loved offspring? he was not esteemed At Troy so void of courage. He is gone Whither his duty calls. Soon will the chief Act worthy of the race from which he springs, The hoary Peleus, and his dauntless sire Achilles, he from these abodes will cast Thy daughter forth, and when thou to another In marriage giv’st her, what hast thou to say On her behalf? “That from a worthless lord Her wisdom drove her?” This would be a falsehood Too gross. But who would wed her? till grown grey In widowhood, shall she beneath thy roofs Fix her loathed residence? O wretched man, The rising conflux of unnumbered woes Behold’st thou not? hadst thou not rather find Thy daughter wronged by concubines, than suffering Th’ indignities I speak of? we from trifles Such grievous mischiefs ought not to create; Nor if we women are a deadly bane, To the degenerate nature of our sex Should men conform. If I pernicious drugs Have to thy daughter ministered, and been, As she pretends, the cause of her abortion, Immediately will I without reluctance, And without grovelling at this altar’s base, To any rigid punishment submit Inflicted by thy son-in-law, from whom I surely merit as severe revenge For having made him childless. Such am I: But in thy temper I perceive one cause Of just alarm, since in that luckless strife About a woman, and a vile one too, Thou the famed Phrygian city didst destroy.

CHOR. Too freely hast thou spoken, in a tone Which ill becomes thy sex, and that high soul The bounds of wisdom hath o’erleaped.

MEN. O woman, So small an object, as you rightly judge, Deserves not the attention of my realm, Nor that of Greece. But learn this obvious truth: To any man whate’er he greatly needs, Is of more worth by far than taking Troy. My daughter I assist, because I deem it A wrong of great importance should she lose Her bridal rights: for every woman looks On all beside as secondary ills: But if she from her husband’s arms be torn, Seems reft of life itself. That Phthia’s prince Direct my servants, and that his obey Me and my race, is fitting: for true friends Have no distinct possessions, but hold all In common. While I wait for the return Of her long absent lord, should I neglect My daughter’s interests, I were weak, not wise. But leave this shrine of Thetis: for the child Shall if you bleed escape th’ impending doom: Him, if you die not, will I slay, since fate Of you or him the forfeit life demands.

AND. Ah me! a bitter and unwelcome choice Of life on terms like these hast thou proposed; Wretch that I am! for whether I decline Or make such option, I am wretched still. O thou, who by a trifling wrong provoked, Committ’st great crimes, attend: for what offence Wouldst thou bereave me of my life? what city Have I betrayed? what child of thine destroyed? What mansion fired? I to my master’s bed By force was dragged: yet me alone, not him The author of that crime, thou mean’st to slay. Thou, the first cause o’erlooking, on th’ effect Which it produces, vent’st thy rage. What woes Encompass wretched me! alas! my country! How dreadful are the wrongs which I endure! But wherefore was I doomed to bear a child, And to the burden under which I groan Add a new burden? what delight can life To me afford? or on what fortunes past Or present should I turn these eyes which saw The corse of Hector by the victor’s car Whirled round the walls, and wretched Troy a heap Of blazing ruins? I meantime a slave By my dishevelled hair was dragged aboard The Argive navy; when I reached the coast Of Phthia, and cohabited with those Who slew my Hector; (but why lavish plaints On past calamities, without deploring Or taking a due estimate of those Which now impend?) I had this only son My life’s last comfort left, and they who take Delight in deeds of cruelty, would slay him; Yet to preserve my miserable life He shall not perish; for auspicious hopes, Could he be saved, his future days attend: But if I died not for my son, reproach Would be my portion. Lo! I leave the altar And now am in thy hands, stab, slay me, bind, Strain hard the deadly noose. My son, thy mother, To rescue thee from an untimely grave, Descends the shades beneath; if thou escape The ruthless grasp of fate, remember me How miserably I suffered; and with kisses, At his return, when thou goest forth to meet Thy father, when a flood of tears thou shedd’st, And cling’st around him with those pliant arms, Inform him how I acted. All men hold Their children dear as life; but he who scorns them Because he ne’er experienced what it is To be a father, though with fewer griefs Attended, but enjoys imperfect bliss.

[_Rises, and advances from the altar._

CHOR. I with compassion to this moving tale Have listened; for distress, to all mankind, Though strangers, must seem piteous: but on thee, O Menelaus, ’tis incumbent now To reconcile thy daughter, and this captive, That she may from her sorrows be released.

MEN. Seize her, and bind her hands; for she shall hear No pleasing language: I proposed to slay Your son, that you might leave that hallowed altar Of Thetis, and thus craftily induced you To fall into my hands, and meet your death; Be well assured, such is the present state Of your affairs: as for that boy, on him My daughter shall pass judgment, or to kill, Or spare him: but now enter these abodes, That you may learn, slave as you are, to treat Those who are free no longer with disdain.

AND. Thou hast o’erreached me by thy treacherous arts; Alas! I am betrayed.

MEN. Proclaim these tidings To all men; for I shall not contradict them.

AND. By those who dwell beside Eurotas’ stream Are such base frauds called wisdom?

MEN. Both at Troy And there, ’tis just the injured should retaliate.

AND. Believ’st thou that the gods are gods no longer, Nor wield the bolt of vengeance?

MEN. We must look To that: but you shall die.

AND. And wilt thou seize This unfledged bird, to slay him?

MEN. No, I will not, But give him to my daughter, who must act As she thinks fit.

AND. Then how, alas, my son! Can I sufficiently bewail thy fate?

MEN. “Him,” ’twas but now with arrogance you said, “Auspicious hopes attend.”

AND. Ye worst of foes To all mankind, inhabitants of Sparta! Expert in treacherous counsels, still devising New falsehoods, curst artificers of mischief, Your paths are crooked, yet though void of worth, Through Greece by circumspection ye uphold An undeserved pre-eminence. What crimes, What murders, what a thirst for abject gain Characterize your realm! with specious tongue Uttering a language foreign to your heart, Are ye not ever caught? Perdition seize you! Death is less grievous than thou deem’st to me Who date my utter ruin from that hour When Ilion’s wretched city was involved In the same fate with my illustrious lord, Whose spear oft drove thee trembling from the field Into thy ships: but now against his wife A formidable warrior art thou come To murder me: strike, for this coward tongue Shall never leave thine and thy daughter’s shame Unpublished. If in Sparta thou art great, So was I erst in Ilion; but exult not In my disasters, for on thee ere long The same reverse of fortune may attend.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

Two rival consorts ne’er can I approve, Or sons, the source of strife, their birth who owe To different mothers; hence connubial love Is banished, and the mansion teems with woe. One blooming nymph let cautious husbands wed, And share with her alone an unpolluted bed.

I. 2.

No prudent city, no well-governed state, More than a single potentate will own; Their subjects droop beneath the grievous weight When two bear rule, and discord shakes the throne; And if two bards awake their sounding lyres E’en the harmonious Muse a cruel strife inspires,

II. 1.

To aid the bark, when prosperous gales arise, Two jarring pilots shall misguide the helm: Weak is a multitude when all are wise, One simpler monarch could have saved the realm. Let a sole chief the house or empire sway, And all who hope for bliss their lord’s behests obey.

II. 2.

This truth hath Menelaus’ daughter shown, Furious she comes the victim to destroy; And, that their blood may nuptial wrongs atone, The Phrygian captive, and that hapless boy, With impious rage unjust would cause to bleed; May pity, awful queen, thy lifted arm impede!

But I before these doors behold the pair On whom the fatal sentence now is passed. Thou wretched dame, and wretched child who diest Because thy mother to a foreign bed By force was dragged, in her imputed guilt Thou wert not an accomplice, thou thy lords Hast not offended.

AND. To the realms beneath, Lo, I am hurried, with these bloody hands Fast bound in galling chains.

MOL. I too, O mother, Under thy wing, to those loathed shades descend A victim. O ye lords of Phthia’s land, And thou, my father, succour those thou lov’st.

AND. Cling to thy mother’s bosom, O my child, Together let us die.

MOL. Ah me! how grievous My sufferings are! too clearly I perceive That I, and thou my mother, both are wretched.

MEN. Go both together to th’ infernal realm: For ye from hostile turrets hither came. Although the cause why you and he must bleed Is not the same, my sentence takes away Your life, and my Hermione’s your son’s. The highest folly were it to permit A foe to live and vex us, whom with ease We might despatch, and from our house remove Such danger.

AND. O my husband, would to Heaven I had thy arm to aid me; and thy spear, Thou son of Priam.

MOL. Wretched me! what charm Can I devise t’ avert impending fate?

AND. My son, implore the mercy of our lord Clasping his knees.

MOL. Dear monarch, spare my life.

AND. Tears from these eyes burst forth like trickling drops By the sun’s heat forced from a solid rock, Wretch that I am!

MOL. What remedy, alas! For these dire evils can my soul devise?

MEN. Why dost thou idly grovel at my feet With fruitless supplications, while I stand Firm as a rock, or as th’ unpitying wave? Such conduct serves my interests: no affection To thee I bear, because my morn of life Was wasted in the conflict, ere I took Troy and thy mother, whose society Thou in the realms of Pluto shalt enjoy.

PELEUS, MENELAUS, ANDROMACHE, MOLOSSUS, CHORUS.

CHOR. Peleus, I see, draws near, his aged feet With eager haste advancing.

PEL. You, and him Who stands presiding o’er a murderous deed, What means this uproar that disturbs the house, I question, and what practices are these Ye carry on unauthorized by law? O Menelaus, stay thy furious hand, And let not execution thus outstrip All righteous judgment. O my friends, lead on; For such a dread emergency appears T’ admit of no delay. Could I regain That youthful vigour which I erst enjoyed As prosperous breezes aid the floating sails, This captive would I favour. Say, what right Have they to bind your hands, and drag along You and your son? for like the bleating mother, Led forth to slaughter with her lamb, you perish, While I and your unwitting lord are absent.

AND. They, as thou seest, O venerable man, Me and my son thus bear to instant death. What shall I say to thee, whom I with speed Not by one single messenger but thousands Have sent for? sure thou, of the fatal strife In these divided mansions, with his daughter, To which I owe my ruin, must have heard: And from the violated shrine of Thetis, Who bore to thee a noble son, the goddess Whom thou rever’st e’en now with brutal force Me have they torn, nor judged my cause, nor wait For absent Neoptolemus, but, knowing That I and that this child who hath committed No fault, are left alone and unprotected, Would slay us both. But, O thou aged man, Thus prostrate on my knees, to thee I sue, And, though this hand must not presume to touch Thy honoured beard, conjure thee by the gods, Rescue us, or to thy eternal shame Both he and I must miserably bleed.

PEL. My orders are that you those galling chains Unbind and loose her hands, else will I make The disobedient weep.

MEN. But I, your equal, Who have much more authority o’er her, Forbid them.

PEL. Com’st thou hither to direct My household? is it not enough for thee To rule thy Spartans?

MEN. Her I took at Troy.

PEL. She, to reward his valour, was bestowed Upon my grandson.

MEN. Doth not all he owns, To me, and what is mine, to him belong?

PEL. For honest purposes, but not for crimes And murderous violence.

MEN. You ne’er shall take her Out of my hands.

PEL. Thy head I with this sceptre Will smite.

MEN. Draw near; if you presume to touch me, Soon shall you rue such outrage.

PEL. O thou villain, Sprung from a race of impious sires, what right To be accounted an illustrious man, And numbered with the truly brave, hast thou, Who by a Phrygian wanderer wert deprived Of thy fair consort, after thou hadst left Thy house unbarred and destitute of guards, As if thou in thy mansions hadst possessed A virtuous dame, though she of all her sex Was the most dissolute? nor if she would Can any Spartan nymph be chaste? for wandering From their own homes, distinguished by bare legs, And zoneless vest, they with young men contend In swiftness and in wrestling; I such customs Hold in abhorrence. Is there any room For wonder if the women prove unchaste Whom thus you educate? thy Helen ought To have proposed these questions, ere she left Her native realm, regardless of thy love, And by that youthful paramour seduced, Wantonly fled into a foreign land. Yet for her sake didst thou that numerous host Of Greeks collect, and lead them to assail The Phrygian ramparts. Thou that beauteous dame Shouldst rather have despised, nor in her cause Wielded the javelin, when thou found’st her worthless, But suffered her in Ilion to remain, And sent rich gifts to Paris on these terms, That to thy house she never should return. But thou, instead of suffering these just motives To make their due impression on thy soul, Full many valiant warriors hast destroyed, Made th’ aged matron childless, and deprived Of his illustrious sons the hoary sire. Numbered with those who owe to thee thy ruin Am wretched I: for like some evil genius In thee do these indignant eyes behold The murderer of Achilles: thou alone, Save by the missile shaft, unwounded cam’st From Ilion’s hostile shores; in burnished chests Didst thou bear thither the same glittering arms Which thou bear’st back again. Before he wedded, I warned my grandson to form no connection With thee, nor into these abodes admit The brood of that adult’ress; for the daughters Their mother emulate in deeds of shame. Look well to this, ye suitors, and select The damsel with maternal worth endued. Then with what scorn didst thou thy brother treat, Commanding him ’gainst reason to transgress, And sacrifice his daughter. Thou such fears, Lest thou that execrable wife shouldst lose, Didst entertain. When thou hadst taken Troy, This too I urge against thee, though thou hadst Thy consort in thy power, thou didst not slay her, But when her throbbing bosom thou beheld’st Didst cast away thy sword, receive her kisses, And soothe the fears of her who had betrayed thee. O worthless miscreant, whom the Cyprian Queen Hath thus debased! thou after this intrud’st Into my grandson’s palace, in his absence Committ’st these outrages, and basely slay’st A miserable woman, and her child, Thee and thy daughter who shall cause to weep Though trebly illegitimate his birth. Oft the parched heath, when duly tilled, exceeds The richest soil, and greater instances Of virtue are in many a bastard found Than in the lawfully begotten race. But take thy daughter hence. Far better is it To form affinity and strictest friendship With a poor man of worth, than him who joins Iniquity with wealth: but as for thee, Thou art a thing of nought.

CHOR. Among mankind, Oft from a small beginning doth the tongue Great strife occasion: but the wise beware Of entering on a contest with their friend.

MEN. Why do we speak in such exalted terms Of aged men, as if they were endued With wisdom, though in former days supposed By the whole Grecian race to judge aright? When you, O Peleus, who derive your birth From an illustrious sire, and with my house So nearly are connected, hold a language Disgraceful to yourself, and slander me, For a barbarian dame, whom from this land You ought to banish far beyond the Nile, Beyond the Phasis, and applaud my vengeance; Because she comes from Asiatic shores, Where many valiant Grecian chiefs lie slain. And hath in part been guilty of the blood Of your famed son; for Paris, by whose shaft, Transpierced, Achilles perished, was the brother, And she the wife of Hector: yet you enter The same abode with her, the genial board With her partake, allow her to bring forth Under your roofs an execrable brood. These mischiefs both to you and me, old man, Foreseeing, have I snatched her from your hands With a design to kill her. But, O say, (For there is nought of meanness in our holding This conference), if my daughter bear no child, And she have sons, will you appoint them lords Of this your Phthian land? shall they who spring From a barbarian race, o’er Greeks bear rule? Am I, because I hate injustice, void Of understanding, and are you discreet? Reflect on this; had you bestowed your daughter On any citizen, were she thus treated, Would you sit down and bear her wrongs in silence? I deem you would not. Why then with such harshness Speak you in favour of a foreign dame Against your nearest friends? as great a right To vengeance as her husband, hath the wife Whom her lord injures: for while he whose doors An unchaste consort enters, in his hands Hath power to right himself, a woman’s strength Lies only in her parents and her friends. My daughter, therefore, am I bound to aid: You show the marks of age: for while you talk Of that famed war I waged, you more befriend me Than if you had been silent. Deep in woe Was Helen plunged, not by her own consent But by the gods: and this event hath proved To Greece most advantageous, for its sons Who knew not how till then to wield the spear, Grew valiant. From experience, best of tutors, Men gather all the knowledge they possess. But when I saw my consort, in forbearing To take away her life, I acted wisely: And would that you had done like me, nor slain Your brother Phocus; this to you I speak Through mere benevolence, and not in wrath: But if resentment o’er your soul usurp An empire, such intemperance of the tongue Will be in you more shameful, while my wishes I by a prudent forethought shall attain.

CHOR. Now both desist (for this were better far) From such unprofitable strife of words, O ye will both offend.

PEL. Ah me! through Greece What mischievous opinions have prevailed! When with the spoils of vanquished foes, the host A trophy rear, they think not how ’twas gained By those brave soldiers who endure the toil Of battle, while their general bears away All the renown: though he was only one Who stood ’midst thousands brandishing his spear, Nor any single combatant surpassed, He gains a larger portion of applause. The venerable rulers of a city, Placed in exalted stations, yet devoid Of any real merit, overlook The populace, though many in the crowd Of their inferiors are more wise than they, If haply courage and an honest zeal Unite to place them in the public view. Thou and thy brother thus are swollen with pride, From having led those troops to conquer Troy, And triumph in the sufferings of your friends. But henceforth will I teach thee not to look On Paris, Ida’s shepherd, as a foe, More terrible than Peleus. If with speed Thou quit not these abodes, and take away Thy childless daughter, my indignant grandson, By her dishevelled hair around the palace Will drag this barren dame, who stung with envy, Cannot endure the fruitful mother’s joys. But, if she prove so luckless as to bare No issue, ought she therefore to deprive us Of our posterity? Begone, ye slaves, That I may see who dares obstruct my loosing Her hands. Rise up: though trembling with old age, Your chains can I unbind. O worthless man, Hast thou thus galled her hands? didst thou suppose Thou held’st a bull or lion in the snare? Or didst thou shudder lest she should snatch up A sword, and wreak just vengeance on thy head? Come hither to these sheltering arms, my child, Unbind thy mother’s chains; in Phthia, thee I’ll educate, to them a bitter foe. Should Sparta’s sons by the protended spear Obtain no fame, nor in th’ embattled field Their prowess signalize, be well assured Ye have no other merit.

CHOR. Old men talk With freedom, and their vehemence of soul Is hard to be restrained.

MEN. Extremely prone Are you to slander; much against my will I came to Phthia, and am here resolved That I will neither do nor suffer aught Disgraceful: but to my own home with speed Am I returning, and have little time In vain debates to lavish: for a city Not far from Sparta’s gates and erst a friend Is waging war against us: I would lead My hardy squadrons forth t’ assail the foe, And utterly subdue them. To my wish Soon as this great affair I shall have settled, Hither will I return, and face to face, When I my reasons to my son-in-law Have in the clearest terms proposed, will hear What he can urge; and if he punish her, And for the future courteously to me Demean himself, from me he in return Shall meet with courtesy; but if he rage, He of my rage the dire effects shall feel: For still such treatment as his deeds deserve Shall he experience. But I am not hurt By these injurious words of yours; for like Some disembodied ghost, you have a voice, Although you are not able to do aught But merely speak.

[_Exit_ MENELAUS.

PEL. Lead on, my boy; here take Thy station under these protecting arms; And thou too, O thou miserable dame, Driven hither by the furious storm; at length Into a quiet haven are ye come.

AND. On thee and thy descendants may the gods Shower every blessing, venerable man, For having saved this child, and wretched me; Yet O beware, lest in some lonely spot They suddenly assail us, and by force Drag me away, perceiving thou art old, That I am a weak woman, and my son Is but an infant: all precautions use, Else we, who have escaped them, may again Be caught.

PEL. Forbear to utter, in such language As this, the dictates of a woman’s fear. Advance, who dares to touch you? he shall weep. For with the blessing of th’ immortal gods, And by unnumbered troops of valiant horse, And infantry supported, I bear rule Over the Phthian land. I am robust, Nor, as you deem, impaired by palsied age. Were I, opposed in battle, but to look On such a man as this, old as I am, An easy conquest soon should I obtain. Superior is the veteran, if with courage Inspired, to many youths: for what avails A vigorous body with a coward’s heart?

[_Exeunt_ PELEUS, ANDROMACHE, _and_ MOLOSSUS.

CHORUS.

ODE.